


Party Dress

by Unironicdokis



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Depression, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, F/M, Gen, Gender Identity, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Transphobia, M/M, Mental Illness, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative, Nonbinary Character, Other, Polyamory, Slurs, Trans Character, homophobic & Transphobic slurs, the q slur, very subtle suicide implications
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 08:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7041400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unironicdokis/pseuds/Unironicdokis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frances Laurens hates wearing dresses. What does her father know about anything? It's not like they're anything alike.<br/>--<br/>Growing up is hard. Every kid is expected to grow up into the legacy of their parents. Whether they aim to meet those expectations or reject them is entirely up to them.</p><p>Between the first generation there's a closeted gay stoner, three GNC sisters, an agender former professional dyke, an overeager bisexual demiboy, what the kids these days call a  "transmasculine genderqueer arospec", a self-identified trans guy in denial, two questioning people on the ace spec, a nonbinary poly frenchman, and more.</p><p>Between the second generation there's an agender queer anarchist, two bisexuals whose parents are mortal enemies, a closeted gay perfectionist, and an out lesbian cartoonist.<br/>--<br/>An exploration of sexuality, gender identity, and relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Maybe Not Right Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit, this fic was mostly reactionary to seeing token nb characters not really given a lot of focus and depth. This fic is mostly meant to explore the characters' gender identities and sexual orientations. My ship preferences are definitely gonna sneak through just a little bit, but it's not really meant to be a ship-centric fic.
> 
> Also, the chronology is very all over the place (especially since there are time-skips back & forth from when the characters are in high school/college/young adults to when they have kids of their own) but it's meant to go in some sort of vague order?
> 
> Pronouns are definitely going to change throughout. Most of the characters are going to be referred to by what they identify as/pronouns they use in that specific moment in time, so for example a character that turns out to be trans man might use "she/her" at the beginning but change pronouns at some point. I'm sorry if there's any confusion.

Eliza Schuyler isn’t one to play dress up, but she is ten when she decides she wants to be just like her sisters. She’d rather run around in the dirt and skin her knees than play at tea parties. Fortunately for her, her sisters love her and her parents more than support her. She asks them if liking “boy things” makes her any less than a girl. They tell her of course not.

They change her name to Elizabeth and offer to buy her a whole new wardrobe. Every time someone calls her “Betsey" or “Eliza", a flicker of recognition goes off in her brain, and it feels like home.

As she grows older, Eliza starts to grow more fond of dolls and dresses. Margarita gives some of her dresses to Eliza. At the same time, she starts “borrowing” her brother’s old clothes.

—

Even though Esther Burr doesn’t have parents to yell at her for wearing jeans and a t-shirt to school, she can still pick up the disapproving looks from the other parents. She’s been told she’ll "grow out of it” more times than she can count, and every time it’s from some patronizing adult with a plastered smile on their face. It makes her sick to her stomach every time, but she quickly learns to always smile and nod in return.

—

Alexander Hamilton hears the phrase “pick a side” possibly a million times in their lifetime. The first time they hear it they're 15, and they overhear some kids talking to each other.

_“Bisexuals are so greedy. Why do people like both?”_

_"I mean seriously, just pick a side.”_

They wonder if it’s wrong that the cute girl in the blue dress and the tall boy with the bruises on his lip both give him butterflies in the stomach.

— ~ —

_Phillip Hamilton has a crush on his best friend. He’s had one for as long as he can remember. Georges is sweet and funny, and it’s killing Phillip knowing that he lives an entire continent away._

— ~ —

Being a gangly awkward teenager is hard enough without kids making fun of you for wearing a dress to school. Marquis de Lafayette is already insecure enough about his curly hair and his broad shoulders and knobby knees, but stumbling around in heels seemed like a great idea at the time—even if it means he towers above his classmates even more than usual. All the same, he really likes the look, even if it garners a few extra stares and whispers from behind hands that do very little shield him from snide comments.

—

Maria Lewis doesn’t really get sex. Sure, she could probably get it in the physical sense if she tried, but she doesn't _get_ sex. She doesn’t get why everybody wants it, why they seem to obsess over it, why it’s so goddamn important. She figures that maybe she’s a late bloomer. Maybe she’ll learn to like it. But she’s 15 years old, and already she’s lost track of the number of times she’s been catcalled by men while walking down the street.

—

“Now her over there, I’d want to get inside her pants.” Jefferson points not so discreetly across the high school cafeteria.

James Madison smiles and laughs uncomfortably.

Jefferson raises an eyebrow at him, giving him a funny look. “What?”

“You’re not joking?”

Jefferson shakes her head.

_“Oh.”_

James tries to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.

—

Esther cuts her hair short around the age of 13. She buzzes it off at age 15 and plans to keep it that way.

—

As Eliza gets older, taunts about her jawline and her adam’s apple and her voice don’t go away, but they’re intermixed with brand new insults. One woman accuses her of trying to appropriate womanhood. On a separate occasion some person compares her transitioning to basically giving up a lottery ticket.

Whenever things get rough, she reminds herself that she has sisters support her no matter what. She even helps Peggy pick out her very first binder. The day it arrives, Peggy tells Eliza and Angelica that she no longer wants to be called “Margarita”.

—

“Wait, trans?”

“Yeah.”

Jefferson shoots Esther a quizzical look. “And you’re sure about this?”

They nod, not taking their eyes off the road. “Pretty sure. And get your feet off my dash.”

She ignores this. “Like, you’re a dude?”

“Sorta. Agender is the word, I think. It’s a non-binary identity. As in I’m not a girl or a guy.” They shrug, trying to seem nonchalant but still keeping a careful eye on Jefferson. "I don’t know, it’s complicated. I just know that I’m not a girl. And will you get your feet off my car already?”

Jefferson finally listens and puts her feet down. It doesn’t stop her from asking them questions. “And you’re getting top surgery?”

Burr ignores the invasiveness of the questions. “Yeah, as soon as I can hopefully. I—“ They glance over just long enough to see Jefferson pull out a blunt. They raise an eyebrow at her. “Really? At least roll down the window.”

Jefferson shrugs, but still complies, struggling to crank down the window in Burr’s ancient car. Burr hears the flick of the lighter, and despite the open window the smell quickly fills the car. Burr wrinkles their nose in distaste.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” asks Burr once they roll to a stop at a red light, and they can get an actual look at their friend’s face.

Jefferson raises an eyebrow at them. “I didn’t say anything.”

“But you were going to,” says Burr. "You don’t think I’ll go through with it.” It was a statement, not a question.

Jefferson waves her free hand lazily, blowing smoke out the window. “I just don’t get it.”

“And what don’t you get, exactly?” asks Burr as their eyes narrow, giving Jefferson a shrewd look.

Jefferson sighs, still staring out the window. “Any of it. Why the fancy new label? The pronouns, the surgery—that’s a very permanent decision, Burr—"

“It’s how I feel,” says Burr, staring straight ahead, hands gripped tight on the steering wheel, trying to keep themselves composed despite their agitation. “You know what, forget it,” they mutter, more to themselves than anyone else. “I knew I shouldn’t have told anyone about this, let alone you.” The light turns green, and they step on the gas.

“I just don’t see the point, what if you change your mind later on?”

“My dysphoria is kind of the point, but thank you for your compassion,” says Burr dryly.

“I’m ok with the trans thing, but the they/them pronouns will take some getting used to.”

“God, could you be more insufferable? I’m so glad you tolerate my existence,” says Burr, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you while you’re high.”

“I feel fine! Swear to God.”

“Don’t make me kick you out of this car.”

“I just don’t get why this is so important to you.”

“And there it is,” mutters Burr. “Look, I just don’t like being misgendered. It makes me feel sick. Wouldn’t it bother you if people mistook you for a dude?”

Jefferson shrugs. “Not really.”

Burr raises their eyebrows, stealing a quick glance over at Jefferson before returning his eyes to the street. “Really?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t bother me. You know me, I’ve always been one of the guys.”

“Huh. Ever considered that you might be trans?”

Jefferson snorts. “Please.”

“Just putting it out there.”

They drive the rest of the way in silence.

—

Angelica is 20 when she asks Peggy an intriguing question.

“Do you think it’s unfeminist of me if sometimes I sort of feel like a dude?” asks Angelica from where she’s sitting on the couch. She frowns, still staring at the half-eaten pop tart she’s holding in her hand.

Peggy looks up at her from the armchair where she’s sitting, peering at her from over her reading glasses. “No, of course not,” says Peggy, brow furrowed in confusion. “Why would you think that?”

She shrugs. “No reason.”

She doesn’t elaborate, but Peggy gets the feeling there’s more than she’s letting on. Instead of pushing it, she just says firmly,“You’re not betraying anyone if you identify as a guy.”

Angelica doesn’t respond.

“Are you thinking about transitioning?” asks Peggy.

“No, not really.”

“Hmm…” Peggy sits there in silence for a moment in contemplation. “Well, would you like me to use he/him pronouns for you, so that you can test it out, see how it feels?”

Angelica finally looks over at Peggy. She nods, and the smile she gives Peggy warms her heart. “That would be great.”

—

“Look, Dad, see what I drew!” exclaims a young John Laurens as he runs up to his father, brandishing a sketchbook in hand as he waves it about.

Henry waves him off as he continues to talk on the phone. “Not right now, Jack.”

John doesn’t make the mistake of showing him any more drawings.

— ~ —

_“Oh no, you don’t,” says John Laurens as his daughter, Frances, scurries past him in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He reaches out, grabbing her by the arm. “T-shirt off. Go put on a dress."_

_Frances scowls. “I don’t see why,” she whines, struggling against his grip._

_“You’re a girl,” he mumbles, rubbing at his temple with his free hand. “ Frances, don’t be difficult.”_

_But he lets go of her, and when he does, she runs off to go change, albeit grumbling all the while. She finally returns in a dress, praying that he doesn’t notice her sneakers._

_“Shoes,” he says, stopping her again by the arm just as they’re about to head out the door._

_“What’s wrong with them?”_

_“Here, put these on,” he says, holding out a pair of flats to her._

_“I don’t want to wear those!”_

_“Frances,” he says, and she detects a note of finality in his voice._

_“This isn’t fair. You’re wearing a girl color!”_

_He tenses where he’s standing--now hyperaware of his pink button-up before finally letting go of her. “Every other girl at this party is going to be wearing her prettiest dress. And you want to go wearing, what? Your trousers? That’s alright with me. Just know that you’ll be the only girl not wearing a dress. Is that what you want? Do you want people talking about you behind your back?”_

_Frances takes a step back, shifting uncomfortably in place and avoiding his piercing gaze._

_“Well?” he asks. “Go ahead. Are you going to change.”_

_For a moment, all she does is stand there. Finally, she says, “Maybe not right now.” Still avoiding her father’s eyes, she takes the shoes from him and runs to the car._

When her father finally joins her in the car, she notices he's now wearing a blue shirt.

— ~ —

Alexander saves up and buys himself a binder not long after he moves to New York. He's honestly fine like this; it doesn't bother him, although he could do without the period. He knows he'll never be able to afford surgery anyways.

Still, he can't help be be a little anxious whenever he leaves the house. He hugs his books close to his chest, hoping that no one notices his narrow shoulders or wider hips underneath his oversized sweater. Is his hair too long? Is his voice too high?

A part of him still feels like a girl, but the idea of being mistaken for a "she" makes him sick to his stomach. He fidgets as he waits in line for his turn at the register.

"Excuse me?" The person at the register calls. "I can help the next person in line."

Alexander scurries up to the counter, keeping his head down, avoiding eyes. He tries his best to make small talk, but his palms are sweaty.

The young girl, probably only slightly older than he is, hands him his brand new notebook and pens. She smiles. "Have a great day, sir."

He takes the items from her and breathes a sigh of relief.

— ~ —

_Phillip is sure he can tell Auntie Angelica practically anything. Auntie Angie is the first person he comes to about his feelings for Georges. She listens to his every word and hugs him when he’s finished and most importantly, promises to keep it a secret._

— ~ —

_Theodosia Burr figures she must have have the chillest nonbinary parent in the world. For being genderless, they do seem to have an unusual commitment to khakis and dad jokes. And they’re very patient with her slip-ups, but only seems to be visibly upset when she calls them “mother” rather than “father”._

_And when Theodosia introduces them to her agender lesbian girlfriend, they seem so excited to meet another agender person that they treat Virginie de Lafayette practically like one of the family._

— ~ —

_“I don’t know why he was so surprised. I mean, I know he’s never around, but I play softball for Christ’s sake. I own like 5 plaid flannels.”_

_“Only five? That’s weak. No wonder he had no idea.”_

_"Shut up, Theo.” Frances kicks Theo’s chair from where she’s sitting. Theo protests, and Frances glares at her friend, but she’s unable to hold her anger for long and she nudges Theodosia in the shoulder with her fist._

_Theo chuckles and rolls her eyes, trace of an amused smile on her lips. "Anyways, maybe he did know, he just didn't know how to bring it up.”_

_Frances sighs. “Yeah. It’s not like he’d even know what to say, anyways. We’re nothing alike."_

— ~ —

At 15, John kisses Alexander for the first time. Alex isn't the first guy he's ever kissed, but he is probably the best; his lips are soft but chapped and his voice makes John’s stomach twist in knots, and he’s pretty sure he’s got it bad.

The only person he tells is Lafayette. Because there’s no way he’s gay. No need to put a label on himself just yet.

A few years later, he gets Martha Manning pregnant.

—

“So, Bigender?”

“Yeah, that’s what it’s called.”

“You sure?”

Peggy laughs. “Yes, I’m sure."

Angelica grins. “Hey, Eliza!” she calls from her seat in the living room.

“What?” yells back Eliza from the next room over.

“Guess what? I’m bigender!”

“Great!… What does that mean?”

Peggy snorts. Angelica stifles a laugh behind her hand.

“It means that I’m trans!” says Angelica, still holding back laughter.

“Looks like we’re three for three!”

Their father walks into the room giving his children a questioning look. “What the hell are you guys shouting about?”

“Sorry, Dad,” says Angelica, with a grin on her face. "Congratulations, looks like all your daughters are transgender."

Peggy snorts again, and this time, she can’t hold back the laughter. Eliza peeks her head in through the door. The three sisters laugh it out till their sides hurt.

—

Women give James anxiety, that much has always been clear to him. Actually, men also give him anxiety. In fact, people in general give James Madison anxiety.

So he’s not quite sure how much his lack of experience with relationships is just due to his avoidant tendencies or his general lack of interest.

It’s taken him years to realize that people weren't joking when they complained about going too long without sex. Sure, he’s had the odd crush here and there. More often than not, he just makes up a name when people ask just to get them off his back. But he’s 16, and if sexual attraction is a prank the whole world is trying to pull on him, he doesn’t quite get the joke.

Maybe he’s broken.

—

Hercules Mulligan is pretty sure he’s what the kids these days call “transmasculine”. He’s on testosterone, and he wears a binder, and he’s pretty ok with staying that way. After all, it’s nobody’s business but his what’s down there. He’s not exactly out looking for a partner right now.

Yeah, he’s doing ok.

—

_“Huh. Ever considered that you might be trans?”_

_Jefferson snorts. “Please.”_

_“Just putting it out there.”_

The interaction with Burr continues to gnaw at Jefferson until she’s no longer sure what to make of it. She’d scoffed as if it was ludicrous at the time, but was it?

There’s no way she could be trans. Right?

—

Esther gets top surgery as soon as they turn 18. It’s a relief. It’ll take some getting used to, but being free of double D’s is both a literal and figurative weight off their chest.

After giving it lots of careful thought, they finally decide on the name “Aaron.” Forget any of the rationale they wanted to justify the name, it just feels right. It’s not that they don’t love and respect their mother, they do. It’s a great name, it’s just not _their_ name.

—

“Non-binary?” asks Lafayette, sounding out the word slowly.

Hamilton nods. “And there’s a bunch of different ones under that label, too.” He begins to list them, counting them off on his fingers. “Genderqueer, Genderfluid, Agender, Demiboy, Demigirl, Bigender, Trigender—“

“So which are you, Alexander?”

“Demiboy.”

Lafayette turns to Hercules. “And you, Herc?”

“Genderqueer Transmasculine.”

Lafayette nods, allowing himself to absorb this new information. “So then I am nonbinary."

“Got any pronouns in mind?” asks Alexander.

"‘Your Highness’ will do nicely, I think.”

Hercules chuckles, and Alexander rolls his eyes but smiles fondly at Lafayette.

Lafayette frowns. “I don’t know…” they mutter softly. “It is complicated. I do not always feel the same, but if I change my pronouns, it will just be confusing for everyone—including myself.”

Hercules offers Lafayette a comforting hand, which they take. “It’s ok to not be sure."

Lafayette smiles gratefully. They’re so thankful for their friends.

—

Jefferson takes a leaf from Burr and invests himself in a complete self-reinvention the minute he graduates high school. Brand new wardrobe, brand new pronouns, brand new body, brand new self all just in time for college.

He comes out to his close friends, cuts ties with others, and cares a lot more about what people think about his new identity than he cares to let on. James’ supportive but nonchalant response really is the one thing that sets him at ease.

He still hasn’t quite figured out a name for himself though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this gets a good response, I'm going to write more because I'm definitely not finished. I just couldn't stand this wip sitting in my drafts any longer.
> 
> The title is song from Fun Home. I was very inspired by that musical, and if you've heard it/seen it you probably caught certain characters experiences that I made similar to that show. Particularly I made Frances' relationship to John a lot like Allison and her father.
> 
> In case there's confusion, I mostly refer to Jefferson by last name (which i usually hate doing) but Ann Jefferson is in fact Thomas. Esther Burr is Aaron Burr.
> 
> My tumblr is aceluz, let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 1: Do You Feel My Heart Saying Hi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first generation end up being role models to the next gen even though they shouldn't be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, Theodosia uses the word "mapa" a lot, which is my gender-neutral/genderqueer parental title she uses for Aaron Burr. I looked up a bunch, but I wasn't really happy with any of them, so I like mapa. It's basically a mix of "mama" and "papa".
> 
> This one is a lot more scenario-based, as opposed to the last chapter which had a lot of what was basically internal monologue? Sorry. I've already started chapter 3, I plan for it to be a balance between the two extremes.
> 
> Make sure you check the tags each update because they are subject to change.

_Frances Laurens' first real memory of meeting Aunt Peggy is when she's eight years old._

_It's not a very formal introduction, and Peggy Schuyler isn't technically her real aunt—according to her dad he's Uncle Alexander's sister-in-law, and Uncle Alex isn't even really her uncle in the first place._

_Her dad explained it to her when she was much younger. In Hispanic cultures, it was customary for the kids to refer to adults as "uncle" or "aunt", particular is the adult was a family friend. It was supposed to be a sign of respect. Therefore, her dad's friends Alexander and Eliza became known to Frances as Uncle Alexander and Auntie Eliza, and by extension Peggy became Auntie Peggy._

_Frances is absorbed in playing airplane when she races into the den, skidding to a stop when she sees her father talking to a petite woman with curly hair._

_(John would later explain to her that Peggy is actually not a woman, but genderfluid, which from what Frances can glean, means she isn't a just girl or a guy, it's different depending on how she feels. However, she doesn't mind being referred to as Aunt Peggy. It's a little confusing, but she figures if she can wear jeans and a t-shirt than Auntie Peggy can be a guy sometimes.)_

_The stranger and her father are too wrapped up in their conversation to notice her at first. Just then, the stranger laughs at something her father says, and Frances is mesmerized. She stares wide-eyed at this person and her father chatting in the middle of their living room._

_Everything about this stranger is appealing to Frances: her self-assured smile, her slight stubble, her thick-framed glasses, her flannel and sweatpants combo that practically drowns her frame—accompanied by sturdy lace-up boots—the way she carries herself. Her laugh._

_She is so beautiful. No. Not beautiful. Handsome._

_Frances see Peggy, and she knows immediately that's what she wants._

_"Frances." The sound of her father's voice brings her back down to reality. Upon realizing that her father and the stranger are staring at her, Frances takes a step back, suddenly feeling very self-conscious and attempting to shrink within herself._

_“Frances,” he repeats, looking surprised to see her but smiling nonetheless. “This is your Aunt Peggy. You remember her, right?”_

_She just shakes her head, eyes wide._

_"Frances, what's the matter with you?" John turns to Peggy. "I'm sorry, she's not usually this shy."_

_"It's perfectly alright," says Aunt Peggy to her father, chuckling slightly. She turns look to at her. "Hello, Frances. It's nice to see you again,” says Peggy, her voice gentle._

_Frances finally steels herself to say something. “Hi!” she blurts out in earnest before going silent once more._

_Aunt Peggy laughs, the smile reaching her eyes, and Frances is enchanted._

—

Alexander had heard about his History 103A professor around campus, so he already knows the guy is trans before even coming to class, but seeing Professor Washington for the first time all he can say is “Whoa."

Lafayette shoots him a questioning look, taking a seat next to him in the crowded lecture hall.

Alexander turns to Lafayette, eyes glistening. “I want to _be_ him."

—

As a graduation gift, Jefferson receives a book of baby names from James.

As he unwraps the present and sees the cover, he raises a skeptical brow at James. “I’m not pregnant, but thanks, James. Your confidence in me says a lot.”

“No, no, that’s not what it’s for.”

“I’m assuming they ran out of ‘congratulations on surgically removing your tits’ cards at the store?”

“Will you be quiet for one second?” James rolls his eyes, but the corners of his lips twitch upward in a small smile. He waits for Jefferson’s attentive eyes before he continues. “It’s not for a kid. It’s for you. To help you get ideas. I notice you weren’t really happy with your birth name, and you’ve been having some trouble coming up with a new one.”

Jefferson blinks, appearing momentarily taken aback. He opens his mouth, probably to say something, but closes it again.

James looks down, wringing his hands, anxious for Jefferson's response and not meeting his eyes. "It's silly, I know—"

"No!" Jefferson puts a hand on his. "I-thank you. That’s very thoughtful.”

James smiles, and they share an appreciative glance before it turns into a smirk. "You didn't really think I got that for you because you were pregnant, right?"

"Shut up."

—

_“You strike me as a woman who has never been satisfied.”_

_“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, you forget yourself.”_

_“You’re like me. I’m never satisfied.”_

_“Is that right?"_

_"I have never been satisfied.”_

Angelica is pretty sure she has a crush on Dolley Payne.

Honestly, who can blame her? Dolley is beautiful, intelligent, and ambitious—with charisma to spare.

She’s also in the closet. Oh, and dating her sister. Her sister, Eliza, who is kind and good and who she would do anything for.

Angelica figures it's probably for the best. They would never have worked out anyways. Just because she can flirt a good game and plans to beat Angelica to being the first female President of the United States doesn’t they’re compatible in the long term in any way, shape, or form.

_“Where are you taking me?”_

_“I’m about to change your life.”_

_“Then by all means, lead the way."_

She wouldn’t be able to handle going back into the closet. Not at this point in her life. She finally feels honest with herself, and here she goes crushing on Eliza’s girlfriend in secret. Who she set up in the first place.

But the look Dolley gave her when they first met is impossible for her to shake. This girl could eat her alive, and she’d be 100 percent ok with that.

—

_Sometimes Frances' father seemed to enjoy having children._

_It was pretty hard for her to tell, though. What with him gone more than half the time, and seemingly forgetting about her the other half._

—

_It’s nearly two in the morning when Theodosia climbs into her house through her bedroom window. She tiptoes in, trying to make as little noise as possible as she shuts the window behind her._

_“Glad to see you’re home.”_

_She hears that familiar stern voice behind her, and it’s like the bottom drops out of her stomach._

_She knows she's technically not supposed to be out this late, and she knows Mapa will kill her for taking their car without permission, but sneaking out to see her girlfriend (who is visiting the States with her family) seemed like a great idea at the time._

Bad call.

_She turns around, and it’s just like a cliche movie as the lamp light flicks on just in time for her to see her mapa sitting in the rocking chair, partially concealed by the newspaper held out in front of their face._

_“Have you been sitting like that the whole time?” asks Theodosia before her common sense catches up with her and she can hold her tongue._

_They fold up their paper, raising a single eyebrow at her with an expectant look, as if silently challenging her to continue._

_She attempts to match their glare, but quickly relents and ducks her head down, avoiding their eyes._

_Burr sighs, rubbing their head in their hands. “Theodosia, I’m not looking to punish you because I'm angry—“_

_She snorts._

_“Don’t,” they warn softly._

_“But—“_

_“You don’t even have a license. Theo, it’s dangerous out there!”_

_It's rare for her mapa to raise their voice, but every time they have it’s left an impression on her._

_Theo turns away from her parent, eyes watering as she mutte_ rs to _herself_. “ _Grounded_ _for two weeks. Got it.”_

_"Theodosia,” they say, and their voice is much softer this time. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”_

_She rolls her eyes. “Got it, Mapa.”_

_“I’m being serious, Theo. Is there a reason you’re always sneaking out late like this?”_

_“No, not particularly. That’s just when I like to have my thinking time as I take long contemplative walks in the park,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm._

_They huff in irritation. “Please, at least tell me you’re not going out with that Hamilton kid.”_

What?

_After the brief moment of disbelief, Theo has to work to fight back laughter. Her mapa shoots her a quizzical look, but she’s still chuckling as she says, “No, Mapa, definitely not,” shaking her head._

_They breathe a sigh of relief._

_“But I am friends with him, I’m afraid, so you’re just going to have to deal with it.” Her phone vibrates in her back pocket. Theodosia ignores it, hoping silently that her parent won’t notice._

_Fortunately, they don’t. “I’ll take it.” They’re even smiling as they raise their hands up in resignation. Burr gets up from the rocking chair with a groan. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight, sweetheart.”_

_“Goodnight, Mapa.” Forcing a grin, she takes to clutching her still buzzing phone in her hand and holding it behind her._

_“You’re still grounded, by the way.”_

_“Of course,” she mutters, more to herself than to them._

_She’s finally able to breathe easy when they shut the door to her room, and she quickly pulls out her phone and answers the call._

_“Virginie?… Jesus, you almost got me in trouble! Why are you— no, no, it’s all good. I’m grounded, but it’s not a big deal… No. I-I didn’t tell him. Not tonight. I will, I promise.” She hesitates. “Love you, too. Goodnight."_

—

John’s lost track of the number of times he’s snuck Alexander into his room in the middle of the night, but that doesn’t stop the adrenaline or the racing of his heart from happening every single time. Whether it’s from the excitement of finally being with his best friend or fear of getting caught, he doesn’t really know. It must be a mix of both.

He can hear footsteps and voices coming from down the hall.

“Shit!” says John. “Someone’s coming.”

“Who?” asks Alexander, sitting up straight. “Your parents?”

“No, but it’s definitely my sisters, you have to go!”

John rushes Alexander as quick as he can out the window and onto the fire escape.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” teases Alex.

“Im serious, go! Get out of here!” says John with a feigned sternness, but he’s unable to suppress the grin on his face. “I’ll see you at school.”

“See you.” Alexander leans in to press a short, sweet kiss to John’s lips, and John sighs, allowing his eyes to close as he cherishes the sensation for what it is. It’s as if John can taste the smile on his lips.

“I love you,” says Alex when their lips finally part, and it’s like John’s heart stops.

“I’m sorry, what?” asks John indignantly as Alex finally turns to leave, already heading down the fire escape. John sticks his head out the window. “Alex?” he hisses into the night, trying to keep his voice down.

John can hear Alex laugh. “I love you, John!” he repeats, like an proclamation to the world. He returns just long enough to flash a cocky grin one last time before he descends down the fire escape, and John can feel his face burning because this kid will almost certainly be the death of him.

—

Dolley knows that failure is never an option. She has to be twice as good as everybody else in order to excel. She was high school Valedictorian. She was class president. She graduated magna cum laude. She’s the one going to law school.

She knows how the game is played. She has to be twice as smart, twice as pretty, twice as ambitious, twice as charming.

Don’t let anybody get to you. Don’t let anybody know you’re dating a woman, it will hinder your career (even if she is a Schuyler). Don’t ever let them catch you with your guard down. Don’t ever let up your smile.

Don’t ever accept anything short of perfection.

—

_Georges and Virginie are both fully aware that everyone thinks their family is weird. Hell, they know their family has never exactly been “normal” or “average”, but that still doesn’t warrant all the shitty things people have not even had the decency to say behind their backs._

_It might be that their parents never got married. It might also be that Mama and Papa are not in love, or that they were never in love in the first place and are essentially just best friends who decided to raise a family together, or that with Uncle Hercules around it’s essentially like having three parents at once. Or it could be that their father is genderfluid and nonbinary and has no qualms about dropping them off at school in a dress and heels, or attending parent’s meetings wearing bright red lipstick. Or, possibly, it could be that both their parents are bisexual and polyamorous, or that as they got older their Ma and Pa both decided to get separate places to stay-- but not too far from each other, so the kids can just go back and forth between them._

_Or perhaps it was because George got made fun of for being a “homo” and a “sissy” a lot, or because Virginie was a tomboy ever since she was a little girl—who always gets in trouble for breaking the rules, argues with the teachers, shaves half her head, dyes her hair bright colors, and was the only 15 year old in her class with a septum piercing. It might be because she’s dated half the girls in her grade by senior year of high school and is starting to build up a reputation like her parents._

_It could be one or multiple things or everything at once that contribute to the ridicule, and yet in all this time the only thing Georges and Virginie really questioned was why everyone else seemed to care so much._

_They’re still like any other family. Their parents still get on their case about grades. They still attend all their sports games and art shows and other school events. They still have a curfew, still have rules, still had an extremely embarrassing version of the Talk when they began to hit puberty. They’re not a perfect family by any means, nor are their parents perfect parents. But the one thing they’ve always excelled at was communication, because as their parents always say, through good communication builds trust._

_Who cares what other people think. They still love each other, and if it works, it works right?_

—

_Frances knows you’re technically not supposed to have favorites when it comes to family. Despite this, she knows they all secretly have one, whether they’re willing to admit it or not:_

_Sweet, shy Georges always got along best with Aunt Betsey. Theodosia’s got this thing for pissing off her mapa by having Angelica Schuyler as her role model (even though Frances knows that deep down inside, her mapa will always be her favorite). Angelica Jr. loves Adrienne because, to be blunt, little Angie Jr. is a huge dork, and Adrienne is literally the coolest person she’s ever seen. Virginie will seek out Uncle Hercules before anyone else, despite everyone telling her how she’s very much her father’s daughter. Will Mulligan and Alex Jr. love hearing stories from John about all the trouble he and their dads would get into during school. Philip’s been emulating his father ever since he was a child._

_But for Frances, it’s always been Aunt Peggy. Never mind her weird crush from when she was younger; Gay Aunt Peggy is awesome, plain and simple. She’s the first one Frances will come to with a brand new drawing, the one Frances goes to when she’s troubled, the one who listens, the the one who gives her advice and talks to her when she’s upset. They have the same sense of humor, the same taste in clothes, same taste in art, in books, in music; she’s kind of like the big sister she always wanted. And Frances loves spending time with her. She never tires of the stories—back in the day when she and her parents were thick as thieves; when Martha was less high-strung and more fun to be around, when Peggy was in what she likes to call her “baby-dyke phase”, and when John Laurens actually owned a bong (which Theo finds hilarious because of course Frances tells her)._

_Frances doesn’t really know what must’ve happened to change that._

—

Dolley has her first real meltdown in years in front of her girlfriend’s sister. Her girlfriend’s sister, Angelica. Who she’s into. Who also has a girlfriend of her own.

Thankfully, Angelica is able to pull her to the side before anybody can really see what’s going on—before she really starts hyperventilating, before her mascara starts to run, before her face turns a bright shade of red, and all Angelica can really do is hold Dolley’s hands in hers and say “breathe”.

In the moment, Angelica’s voice and hands are the only things that feel real to her. She complies, reaching to take long, shuddering breaths in an attempt to calm her heart rate.

“Do you want me to get Eliza?” asks Angelica, voice full of concern.

She shakes her head forcefully, eyes squeezing shut. She’s still struggling to breathe normally.

_Pull yourself together, Dolley._

Angelica brushes Dolley’s hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ears. The sensation gives her comfort, then guilt. Taking a deep breathe, Dolley is finally able to open her eyes to find Angelica’s look of concern, warm brown eyes peering into hers.

“Are you ok?” asks Angelica.

“I-I…” She can feel the tears rolling down her cheeks and so she closes her eyes and shakes her head, trying to fight them back. “I’m sorry. I d-don’t know what happened, everyone was talking, and then Eliza left, and-and… one minute I was f-fine, and the next—“

Angelica hushes her gently. “Hey, it’s ok. You’re ok. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

_Get yourself together. What’s the matter with you? You’re Dolley Freaking Payne!_

“I don’t know. Everyone is talking about their futures in there, talking about marriage and engagements and promotions, and what am I doing? I’m an unemployed grad student who's thousands in debt and still in the closet, that’s what I’m doing.” She keeps on rambling, unable to stop herself once she gets going, and Angelica seems to be letting her—just nodding along and listening intently. “There are people in there already talking about marriage and kids, I can’t give Eliza that! Even if she doesn’t want those things now, she’s probably going to want them eventually, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to do that. And you, God, Angie, you’re already out to your parents, that’s never going to happen for me. Your family loves you so much, I would give anything to have what you have!”

“Dolley,” says Angelica and when she finally speaks up her voice is firm. “Dolley, look at me.” Dolley calms herself enough to maintain eye contact with Angelica, who continues. “You are not a failure. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You may feel trapped right now, but you are a beautiful, accomplished, talented young woman. You have your whole life ahead of you! Don’t let anybody stop you from chasing what you want. Got it?”

Dolley nods slowly, mesmerized by her stare and taking the time to process what Angelica is saying. Angelica gives her hands a reassuring squeeze.

“I look like hell, don’t I?” asks Dolley with a half-hearted laugh.

Angelica shakes her head. “No, not at all,” she says unconvincingly.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Angelica doesn’t answer, but her lip bite says it all.

“Well, this is thoroughly humiliating,” says Dolley, offering Angelica a weak smile, which she returns sympathetically. “I’m going to the bathroom to fix myself up. If you see Eliza, tell her I said sorry, ok?”

“Ok.”

Dolley doesn’t miss Angelica’s hesitation, but she finally lets go of her hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this is getting a little bit more shippy than I anticipated. Although I feel like it's a little bit expected for this chapter, the theme is VERY loose but its mainly about connections with other people, or lack thereof?
> 
> For clarification. The Lafayette family (the kids) refer to Laf as their Dad or their Father, which they really don't mind at all, but they still use they/them pronouns for them.
> 
> Also shoutout to thisprentiss don't know if you caught my reference to HTGAWR in there.
> 
> Pls continue to comment everyone's response was so positive after chapter 1 & that's how I get my validation ok...
> 
> My tumblr is aceluz if you wanna follow me, ask me a question, anything really.


	3. Chapter 2: It Might be a Big Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming out it tough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said these wouldn't be so dialogue heavy, but I lied. Thanks so much to everyone for your wonderful feedback! People probably already know this, but Maria Hadfield is Maria Cosway, just to be clear.
> 
> Also, reminder that Burr and Laf are both nonbinary parents. Burr is referred to as "Mapa", a mix of mama & papa, by Theodosia & goes by they/them. Lafayette also goes by they/them, but their kids & Adrienne will refer to them as Papa, or Dad. They don't have a problem with this, they feel like its just easier for the kids with the differentiation between which parent is which.

Maria Hadfield loves being a lesbian. Whenever she admits this, she always receives funny looks, as though they can’t imagine someone possibly loving being gay. She knows they feel sorry for her. She doesn’t care; not about the weird looks, the lesbophobic comments, the weird guys telling her to make out with girls at parties. She loves herself, and she loves women. That’s all she knows.

The minute Maria meets Angelica Schuyler, she knows that Angelica is the right girl at the wrong time. In fact, every time she runs into Angelica after that it always feels like the wrong time. In high school, Maria was dating Jefferson before he came out, when he still referred to himself as Ann. Which was great and all; he really adored her, but after a while she was no longer into it. Then they broke up since he was leaving for college; he came out as trans, graduated, left for school. They said their goodbyes, still remain on good terms and everything. Maria was hoping that meant she and Angie would now have a shot together, but after that Angelica had a serious girlfriend, and when that didn’t last she heard that Angelica got into another relationship with someone named Adrienne while in Paris, and when they broke up she heard someone mention something about a Dolley Madison. Maria was too scared to ask Angelica herself and confirm if it was true. She and Angie lost touch after that. Maria hasn’t been in many serious relationships since high school.

It’s like she said: the right girl at the wrong time.

—

Peggy never officially comes out to her parents as a lesbian. She never really has to. They’ve always already just sort of known, not in a presumptuous way, but she’s ok with not making some grand statement about it. She hopes they’d at least figured it out once she started bringing girls home to meet the folks.

Angelica considers herself having “come out” at three points in her life. First, in junior year of high school as bisexual. Next, as a college sophomore, she finally comes out to her parents. Then finally, in her first year of grad school, she comes out also as bigender. It’s a relief. She no longer feels as though she’s trapped in her own skin, no matter how her parents feel about it.

Eliza’s known she was a girl ever since she was a kid, so when it’s come to gender she’s never really felt she had to “come out”. But she still hasn’t told her parents about her feelings for girls because she never thinks she has to. Oh sure, she’s dated a few girls here and there—which her parents didn’t seem too happy about—but she’s not actually gay. She’s just a little bi-curious is all. It’s not really a big deal.

—

There’s a book of interviews hidden under James’ bed in his dorm room.

Within the next couple days that book is accompanied by a few more. A few turns into many. Many turns into enough to fill a large box.

The books are all at least vaguely related to one subject in particular.

In Thomas’ dorm room there’s also a book hidden under his bed—the book of names James got for him for his graduation. There’s one name in particular circled in bright red marker. Thomas fucking loves that book.

—

John and Lafayette are up smoking on the roof of his apartment building when Laf catches John off-guard with a question.

“So, why don’t you just tell him?” asks Lafayette.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Your dad.”

John scoffs. “Yeah, ok."

“I’m serious. If he keeps trying to set you up with girls, why don’t you just tell him the truth?"

“Oh.” John looks down at his hands, avoiding his friend’s eyes. "He, um… He knows.”

"He does?"

He nods, still refusing to look over at his friend. “It was a while ago. He came up for a surprise visit while I was in school, Alex and I were together when he dropped by my apartment unannounced, and…” He doesn’t have to finish the sentence for Laf to get the gist of it. “And you know what the weirdest part of it was? He didn’t even say anything. He’s been acting like it never happened ever since.”

“I’m sorry,” says Laf. When he doesn’t answer, they try again. “John.”

“I... I have to go.”

—

_“I don’t know what was worse, Dad not knowing or now that he does know, acting like he doesn’t even care.”_

_“Well, what about your mom?” asks Theodosia._

_“Oh, she freaked,” says Frances with a short laugh that was more of a scoff than full of any kind of humor. “She was so not happy about it, which I don’t really get? But now she’s going full on Disney on me by acting like homosexuality doesn’t even exist. ‘What about Philip? He’s a nice boy’. Yeah, he’s also practically family, Mom, and also, you know, a guy.”_

_Theo watches Frances, feeling the pangs of sympathy for her friend. It was hard to see her like this, pacing back and forth anxiously, more agitated than she had ever seen her. Was she ranting? Sure, but Theo didn’t see anything wrong with that, nor did she feel like it was her place to stop Frances._

_“Sometimes I just wish they weren’t my family, you know? I know it’s awful, and that I should love them, but ugh, they make it so hard.”_

_Theo nods. “That’s fair. It’s not totally awful. Isn’t that normal? I’m sure everyone wishes that sometimes.”_

_“I don’t see why,” says Frances. “Not everyone has my parents. So if this is your way of saying you feel the same, please just save it. I love you and all, but you have no clue what you’re talking about.”_

_“Excuse me?”_

_“Please,” says Frances, and Theodosia doesn’t miss her eyes rolling. “Theo, your mapa is_ so _cool.”_

 _“My mapa is_ not _cool. Frances, you’re talking about Mixter ‘I’ve read all the single parent self help books and I’m ready to try way too hard’. And they don’t let me get away with anything.”_

_“Exactly! Theo, do you realize how lucky you are to have someone who cares about you? Who is at least willing to try to understand who, who really wants to be a part of your life?”_

_Theo doesn’t answer._

—

_Theodosia and Burr are out on a drive when Theodosia finally pulls up into their driveway. She turns the key, ignition off, and is ready to step out of her car when her mapa stops her._

_“Wait.”_

_She closes the car door, shooting them a quizzical look and sitting back down._

_“Theodosia,” says Burr, and when they speak their voice is very careful an even. “I know you’re probably tired of hearing this by now, but I just want you to know… You can tell me anything, alright?”_

_“Mapa…” says Theodosia, unsure as to what could have possibly brought this on. She blinks back tears, her vision starting to go just a little bit blurry._

_“I mean it,” says Burr as they makes eye contact with her, and she’s surprised by the sincerity in their expression. "I know I haven’t always been the most inviting presence, and I know I’m not the biggest sharer in the world, so… I’m sorry if you’ve ever felt there’s been something you felt you had to hide from me.”_

_She smiles weakly, still tearing up. “Thanks, Mapa.”_

_Their lips twitch in what Theo figures is a slight smile. If that’s all she’s going to get, she’ll take it. “Alright, good talk.” They unbuckle their seatbelt, ready to step out of the car when Theo stops him._

_“Mapa, wait.”_

_They’ve made it clear that she can tell them anytime, but she’s ready now. She knows it. She’s been ready for a while._

_“I… I do have something to tell you.”_

_They don’t say anything, but instead wait expectantly._

_Theodosia thinks about Frances, about her frustration and her envy. She doesn’t wish for her friend to be jealous, but she’s been doing some thinking, and Frances was right. Theo is so incredibly lucky to have her mapa, and she knows that now. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself for the bravery to say the next few words. “I’m bisexual.”_

_For a moment, they don't say anything. Then, their face breaks out in a rare, full-on smile. “Sweetheart, thank you for telling me.”_

_They reach across, pulling Theodosia into an awkward hug that she appreciates nonetheless._

_“Good talk,” she says, mimicking her mapa,_ _and smiling to herself. When they pull apart, she opens her car door, stepping out of the car. “That went so well. I’ll introduce you to my girlfriend sometime.”_

_Burr gulps. “Girlfriend?”_

_“Yeah, you’ll like her. She’s agender just like you.”_

_“Really?” they ask, perking up in a way that makes Theodosia laugh._

_“Yeah, she’s been wanting to meet you.”_

_“Well, as long as you’re not seeing a Hamilton.”_

_She shakes her head. “Kind of undercutting your message, Mapa.”_

—

James receives a mysterious knock on his door one Friday afternoon. He’s in the middle of a letter home, which he can always finish later, so he gets up in his curiosity and answers the door. Upon seeing who it is, he steps back in surprise.

“Thomas?” he asks, sure he must be dreaming.

But no, it was really him, in the flesh.

“Who else?” he says, dressed in a matching purple coat and fuchsia scarf that would’ve made him impossible to miss in a crowd, and upon seeing James, his expression quickly goes from bored to cheerful as he shoots his best friend a wide grin. “Now are you gonna let me in, orrrr—“ Thomas peers over James’ head and into his room, speaking in his familiar lazy drawl.

“Of course! What the hell are you doing here?”

Thomas saunters past him, ignoring his question. “It is so cold outside, I’m freezing.” James rolls his eyes. Always so dramatic. "Children are so loud, Christ, I have a headache.”

“Being 20 in a res hall full of freshman does not grant you senior status, Thomas,” says James, but he suppresses an amused smile nonetheless. It’s a tribute to how much he missed Thomas’ antics while they were apart.

Thomas sits right on the edge of James’ bed, making himself right at home. “Where’s your roommate?”

“Out,” says James shortly. The guy wasn’t around very often. James didn’t really have a problem with it, except for the nights when he came back in the middle of the night, clearly drunk and making lots of noise. “But you never answered my question.”

“You said you needed to talk in your last letter, and it sounded urgent, so... I’m here.”

“Yeah, but I was expecting a phone call, not for you to drop everything and drive all the way up here."

Thomas shrugs. "Can’t a guy want to surprise his best friend with a visit?”

“Sure, but you know I’m not big on surprises.”

“So?”

“So what gives?”

“Look, I just really wanted to see you. I…” He turns away, running his hand over his mouth and mumbling something indiscernible.

“I’m sorry?”

“I missed you, ok?” snapped Thomas, but with no real malice to his tone. "There, that’s my last scrap of dignity, enjoy it.” He avoids looking at James, waving a hand around dramatically.

“Oh. _Oh_.” James hesitates a moment before speaking again. “Since when have you cared much about dignity? Particularly in front of me?”

Thomas ignores him. “How’s it been up here at Princeton?”

“Good. Stressful.” He pauses. “Lonely. But only sometimes. I… I missed you, too,” says James, offering Thomas a small smile.

“Jesus, how long as it been since we’ve seen each other?” Thomas shakes his head and shrugs off his coat, throwing it to James, who catches it on instinct.

“Three months, five days, but who’s counting?” says James with a weak laugh, hanging the coat up on a hook in his closet.

“So what is it?” asks Thomas. “I’m here, so you might as well tell me whatever you were dying to say. Whatever it is, you made it seem like it was pretty big deal.”

“Oh,” says James, surprised my Thomas’ lack of preamble. "It is! Well, not really… Maybe. I don’t know.” He wrings his hands nervously, avoiding Thomas’ eyes. Thomas watches him expectantly. “Hang on.” James quickly pulls out a large cardboard box, rummaging through it briefly before pulling out a book and handing it to Thomas. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“A book of interviews. All the subjects are… well…”

Thomas flips through the book, quickly glancing over the pages. “Gay?”

“Yeah, I was in the bookstore the other day, and well—“

Thomas snorts. He actually snorts. James stares at him in disbelief. “Is something funny?"

“Nothing,” says Thomas, but James can tell he’s fighting back laughter. “Of course, you’d finally reach your queer awakening from a book, of all things.”

“I hate you so much,” he mutters, face beginning to burn.

“James! I’m sorry, I’m—What are all these other books?” asks Thomas, nudging the open box wit his foot.

“I might’ve… bought all the other books in the section when I went back the next day.”

“James, you absolute ray of sunshine. You are a delight.”

“Glad I could entertain,” mutters James. “I—why are you looking at me like that?” he asks upon seeing the fond but the otherwise elusive expression on Thomas’ face.

“I’m very proud of you, you know that, right? You have to know that. I drove all the way up here to see you.” He’s smiling but his eyes are wet—almost like he’s about to cry.

“Ugh, Thomas, you sap,” says James, trying not to get choked up himself.

“Have you told anyone else besides me?”

“Um… There was a kid in my Poli-Sci class who hit on me and then might've asked me out? It was hard to tell. He’s very loquacious.”

“Did you say yes?”

James snorts. “Do you even know me at all?"

—

Peggy and John have a pact to dance together for all the frustratingly hetero local events. It’s better than finding a date they’re not particularly interested in, and they’re good enough friends that it’s not weird, even if Peggy does step on his toes more often than he would like. The get-togethers are always stuffy and overly formal, and Peggy gets shit from her parents for always showing up in button ups and pants, but no matter how much she tries she’s never been able to weasel her way out.

She and John are at their high school semi-formal, swaying out of tune to the music like the terrible dancers they are when a pretty girl standing by herself across the hall catches her eye. Peggy cranes her neck slightly to get a better look at her.

John notices, smirking and raising an eyebrow at her. “That is Martha Manning. She just moved here from London. You into her?”

“No,” says Peggy a little too quickly, immediately looking away from Martha and back to John.

“Convincing,” says John, rolling his eyes.

Peggy tries to muster the most scathing look she can possibly give him. “I am _not_ into her,” she says, very forcefully.

“Well, good,” says John, although he doesn’t look convinced, “Because I’m pretty sure she’s straight.”

“Could be hearsay.” She tries not to make her disappointment apparent in her voice.

“Or we’ve met, and my gaydar is never wrong."

She rolls her eyes, but ignores that last part. “You’ve met before?”

“Last summer. While I was traveling.”

Peggy bites back another sarcastic comment at John’s expense and instead risks another glance over at Martha—still standing by herself and eyeing the floor of dancing people anxiously, holding a cup of something and looking slightly out of place—and this time their eyes meet for just a fraction of a second before Peggy panics and looks away again.

“Want me to introduce you?”

She snorts. “I’m good. Mom gets off my case for a little while whenever you and I are out together. Can’t imagine why. I look even gayer with my beard in tow. ”

He mock gasps. “Am I being used?”

She smirks. “Only a little.”

“Christ, can you remember our first dance together?”

“You’re acting like it was a century ago instead of two years ago.”

“‘Uh, your hand is on my boob, I would like it lower,’” says John, mocking Peggy’s voice in a high-pitched squeak.

“Oh yeah? Well what about you, mister ‘it’s lower, it was grossing me out, anyways,’?” say mimics back to him in an attempt to match his lower cadence.

“The one couple who stood so far apart the chaperones didn’t even have to be ask us to make room for Jesus,” says John with a cheesy grin, and Peggy bursts out laughing, earning them a few perplexed stares from the people nearby that they both ignore.

They continue dancing in silence for a little while longer before John speaks up again. “So what’s the verdict? Do you want me to introduce you or no?”

Peggy sighs, making a resigned shrug. “Sure. Just fuck me up.”

—

Eliza’s waiting for Dolley on their usual bench in Central Park, trying to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach. Dolley is later than she’s ever been. Eliza can’t say she’s not surprised—Dolley’s been avoiding her calls for several days.

After nearly 20 minutes Dolley shows up with an apologetic hello, looking frazzled and taking a seat next to her. Eliza doesn’t look at her, but instead stares straight ahead, only somewhat paying attention to two small birds sitting in a tree together, building a nest.

Eliza finally speaks. “So, how come you haven’t been answering my calls?” She makes a conscious effort to avoid Dolley’s gaze. Their hands don’t touch. Eyes don’t meet. No physical contact. So really, no different from usual.

“I’ve been crazy busy lately.” Dolley offers a small smile, but when Eliza doesn’t respond, she continues. “It’s not you, it’s—“

“Oh no," says Eliza, cutting her off, finally allowing some of her anger to seep through the cracks, “do not give me the ‘it’s not you it’s me’ speech, don’t even think about it."

“Eliza, I’m sorry if this hurts. But I really want to start focusing on my career, and I just think it’s better for the both of us if…”

“No, I get it. Your future just doesn’t include me in the picture, and that’s fine.” Eliza stands up, fighting back the tears in her eyes as she turns away.

“Eliza—“ begins Dolley but she’s already begun to walk away.

“I’ll see you around,” says Eliza, the words much too cavalier for what she’s actually feeling, and she’s praying that Dolley doesn’t see her wipe the tears from her eyes as she walks away.

—

Dear Mom and Dad,

I’m trying to tell you something, and I’m having a hard time because ~~it’s kind of a big deal, it’s not that big of a deal,~~ it might be a big deal…

_Philip puts down his pen. Georges idea of writing his parents a letter had seemed so simple, but the words were not coming to him as easily as he had hoped. If only he had his father’s gift with the pen, or his bravery—he could use a little bit of both right now._

_He crumples up the paper in frustration and defeat, tossing it into the already full trash bin. After a moment, he changes his mind, pulls out a new sheet, and tries to start again._

—

_Dear Mother and Father… Dear Mom and Dad…. Dear…_

James has always had a preference for the written word. Sad as it is to admit, it’s just so much easier than a face-to-face conversation. He can take the time to compose what he’s saying, keep control of his anxiety, make less of a damn fool of himself.

Right now he’s at a loss. He knows he should just tell them. Just get it over with. Just call them over the phone and be done with it. But that would take courage that he doesn’t have and a steady voice that he’d never be able to pull off, and it’s better to just have several anxiety attacks over a letter than one in person or over the phone—it’s worth it as long as they never find out he was panicking in the first place.

—

Martha often shows up at Peggy’s door late at night. It’s not really unusual for Martha to turn up at Peggy’s apartment unannounced. It’s been a while since John first introduced them; they’ve become pretty good friends. They usually drink and talk and have a good ol’ time. Drinking is a big part of it in particular.

The more time they spend together, the more Peggy tries not to think about the fact that Martha is probably the straight girl she’ll never get over. (Every lesbian has at least one in their lifetime). There’s always a difference in the atmosphere when they’re alone together, compared to when they’re, say, getting high with John. There’s more phrases such as “you’re the only girl I’ve ever liked” and “only gay for you” and naive hopes that maybe one day Martha will see that Peggy, she was the one all along!

She should be over this by now. It’s not like she’s still in high school. She shouldn’t still be hung up on straight girl crushes.

Peggy distinctly remembers the last time Martha has one of her late night drop-ins because she’s definitely not there to gossip or to have fun or to drink, God no.

“I just didn’t know where else to go.”

“You’re always welcome here, Martha.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just—You’re the first person that came to mind, and—“

“Martha, what is it?”

“I have some news. I’m freaking out, Peggy, I’m freaking out, I don’t know what to do—“

“Martha. What is going on?”

“I’m pregnant, Peggy.”

—

_“They’re driving me crazy, Georges. Mom gave me a hug and said it was ok, but she’s clearly upset. I wish she'd stop pretending otherwise.”_

_“I’m sorry, Philip.” Georges watches him sympathetically through the computer screen._

_“You’d think she’d be more understanding, considering all the bullshit she’s had to deal with. But that’s not even the worst part. My dad gave me this whole sermon about how it’s ok to experiment. Give me a break. What time is it?” asks Philip, briefly distracted from his ranting. “It has to be late over there."_

_“It’s alright, I don’t mind. You’re clearly upset.”_

_“You sure? I don’t want to keep you.”_

_Georges just nods, allowing Philip to continue venting._

_“It’s just… so infuriating. So typical of him, too! He has to be the expert on everything, like he even understands what it’s like. Mom keeps saying how we’re so alike, but I’m bisexual! Which means I’m not like him, and I’ve never been like him. Why can’t they see that?”_

—

“We need to talk,” says Adrienne to Lafayette one day out of the blue.

“ _Merde_ ,” mutters Lafayette under their breath, too low for her to hear. They smile, trying their best to contain their worry as they gesture for her to sit across from them. “What’s up, Adri?”

“Relax,” says Adri with a reassuring smile and a quiet chuckle to herself. “Or don’t. Depends on how you react.” She takes a seat, crossing her legs and tossing her hair back, just as pretty as ever.

“You’re making me nervous.”

“Laf. It’s fine. I swear.” She takes a deep breath, and Lafayette watches her, apprehensive for the news about to be dropped. “I, um… I want to have a baby.”

Lafayettes’ face splits into a wide grin. “Really? That’s great, Adrienne!” They open their arms, prepared to pull her into a hug, but she holds up a hand in protest.

“Wait. And I want you to be the… The father? The donor? The other parent, maybe? I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know the right word.”

It’s as if their heart stops. “I’m sorry, what?” they ask, sure they must have misheard.

"Marie-Joseph Paul—“ begins Adrienne, but Lafayette cuts her off, simply amazed by her ability to keep a straight face.

“No! Stop right now. No, don’t you dare full-name me!” they say, but Adrienne ignores them, now suppressing a smile.

“—Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, will you—“

They groan, Adrienne succeeding in her endeavor of keeping them quiet as their ears turn red, burying their face in their hands in mortification.

“—please do me the honor of being the parent to my child?”

It takes them a moment to finally answer, still embarrassed and overwhelmed.

“Jesus, I thought you were going to propose.”

“You glad I didn’t?”

“Definitely.”

“We had a good run back in the day, though.”

“Also true.” After Adrienne affords them a moment to think over the actual proposal, they ask, “Ok but Adrienne, you’re really serious about this?”

“Of course,” says Adrienne, smiling warmly at them, but she looks at them with the utmost sincerity, placing a hand on theirs. “I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I just know that you would be wonderful. But if you’re uncomfortable at all, then of course you can say no.”

“I just need to think about it.”

“Take your time. There’s no need to give a definite answer right away.”

“Ok, but if I am thinking about it, then I need to know how exactly this is going to work.”

“Well, we can always work out the finer details later, but if you’re worried that this is about, you know... us, I just want to let you know that if you do say yes, you can be as involved in the parenting as you like. I’m sure we can work something out. We’ve gotten through everything else together, have we not?”

They nod slowly, trying to process everything at once.

“ _Mon cher_ , talk to me. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking… That I want to do it. Don’t hold me to that, yet,” they add quickly. “But that’s how I’m feeling right now. And I do want to be involved, of course I do. I couldn’t leave you to do this all by yourself.”

“You know perfectly well I’m capable enough to handle it.”

“I know. But you’re my best friend, Adri. Of course I’d want to do this with you.”

They don’t mention their own father, but they can tell Adrienne understands what they mean.

“Laf…”

“And you’re not worried at all about the kid having someone… like me as the father?”

“What the hell are you talking about, Laf?”

“You know…” They gesture to their outfit—surprisingly subdued for the day in a sweater and jeans, but still accompanied by their usual heels and red lipstick.

“Gilbert,” says Adrienne, and her voice is firm. “You are the sweetest, most compassionate, caring, genuine person I know, and any child would be lucky to have you as their parent.”

They smile, eyes beginning to water. “You flatter me.” They stop to wipe their eyes. “Even so, it’s a little unconventional, don’t you think?”

“So what?” asks Adrienne with a laugh. “Since when have we ever been conventional?”

Lafayette grins. “Good point. So we’re doing this?”

“I think we are.”

She gives their hands an excited squeeze, leaning in so that their foreheads touch and they laugh together.

“Ok,” says Adri abruptly, “but we are not naming him Georges.”

“Then you better hope she’s a girl.”

She smiles. “Fingers crossed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively titled "the coming out chapter" tbh. Also, James is still asexual, for those who are confused. He's gay and ace. I know there's been little foreshadowing for that so... my bad?
> 
> I'm starting to realize that my chronology & setting is very inconsistent? So that my story kind of takes place in this weird parallel universe to our own with no real consistency to where characters live or what takes place when & what takes place in what time period? Oops.
> 
> Also shoutout to the writers of the Maria Cosway Certified Lesbian series. I may or may not have taken inspiration.
> 
> If you catch any of my references I've made to movies, musicals, other fics, whatever else, congratulations. I swear I'm not a derivative uncreative hack; it's homage.
> 
> My tumblr is aceluz. I need validation so pls comment.


	4. Chapter 3: He Wants More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frances and Peggy are gay messes, Dolley fucks up, and Georges is the human embodiment of anxiety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna say thank you to everyone who has taken the time to comment or even just read, bookmark, kudos my writing. I do it for you guys.

_“Alright, so as much as I’m begrudged to admit it, I’m shopping for my prom dress. What color is yours, Theo?”_

_“Um, blue?… Why?”_

_“Thanks. And it’s because we have to match, obviously. Thank God, it’s not pink, I would’ve died.”_

_“That’s great and all, Frances, but unless I missed something, we’re not going together.”_

_“What, yes we are! On Thursday after bio I specifically rememb…”_

_“Frances?”_

_“… Shit, I forgot to ask you.”_

_Frances can hear Theo’s laughter from the other end of the line, and is grateful her friend can’t see how red her ears are. Her face is burning._

_“It’s alright. Hang on, I’ll send you a picture of my dress, since we are going together.”_

_“As friends,” Frances clarifies quickly._

_“Right, as friends,” says Theo, and Frances can practically hear the amused smile in her voice._

_“Gal pals.”_

_“Alright, I’ll talk to you later.” And with that the line goes dead._

—

 _Ok, so Philip is gay, but he isn’t_ gay _gay. Technically he’s bisexual gay. He isn’t politically conscious gay. He isn’t fabulous gay. He isn’t even repressed quarterback gay._

_He’s tries to talk himself out his feelings for boys more times than he can keep track. After all, he still thinks girls are cute. What he feels for guys, it’s friendly. It’s platonic. It’s not real._

_It’s taken him years to get over that way of thinking. So of course, when Philip finally writes that letter to his parents like he said he would—when he starts expressing that kind of self doubt for the first time again in ages—Georges kisses him, in what Philip suspects to be the single most spontaneous act careful and meticulous Georges has ever done in his life. Philip melts into the kiss because in that one moment everything falls into place, and nothing has ever made more sense._

—

_Frances and Philip have nearly identical conversations with their mothers over the phone. There’s no fight, no argument, not even raised voices._

_Philip’s father has a published what comes out to be a 94 page pamphlet on his affair with Maria Reynolds. He and Frances find out about their fathers' relationship through phone calls to their mothers._

—

Un deux trois quatre cinq six sept huit neuf, sept huit neuf, sept huit neuf…

_Eliza can hear Philip playing the piano from upstairs. She can hear voices, too. Alexander is talking to Georges—unsurprising to say the least, but Philip… Philip is playing the piano._

_She’s been avoiding a confrontation all evening. It’s Philip’s first visit home since he went away for college. She assumed he would be mad at her, but he’s playing a song on the piano, their song. Eliza braves herself to go downstairs and talk to him._

_Philip doesn’t look up from his playing when she approaches him. To her surprise, he speaks first. “How’ve you been, Mom? How’s everybody been while I was away?” He switches up his playing, changing the melody._

_She finally forces herself to speak. “Your father is working a lot. Unsurprising really. Have you—“_

_“Yeah, I’ve been getting two, three, sometimes four letters a week. They’re really long. It’s like he’s trying to make up for lost time or something, I don’t know.” In the midst of his speaking, Philip misses a note somewhere in there, and Eliza quickly and almost instinctively corrects him._

_“How is Dad?” asks Philip once he has a good rhythm going again, and she can hear the hesitation in his voice. His playing slows to a much softer melody._

_“He’s hardly eating or sleeping. Again, I don’t know why I’m surprised.” She hugs her arms close to her chest._

_“Well, you know how he gets—“ begins Philip, surely in an attempt to reassure her, and it’s comfort she does not deserve, not from her little boy, but she continues before she can stop herself._

_“I’m sick of it. I’m sick of looking for him. I’m sick of cleaning up after everyone’s messes.”_

_Philip’s playing slows to a halt, and he finally looks up at her. “You’ve done too much,” he says, looking close to tears, and Eliza can’t believe this is the same boy who used to get in fights with the other kids at school. Eliza knows it isn’t fair to have to ask any child to comfort their parent._

_“You know, shortly after we were married we took a drive down the coast to meet an ‘army buddy’ of your father’s.”_

_“John?”_

_Eliza doesn’t reply, but she nods, and she can feel the lump forming in the back of her throat. She takes a deep breath. “‘Course it wasn’t until later I learned that he had been your father’s lover. There have been others, of course, and not just men, but you already knew this.”_

_Philip stares at her. “I don’t know how you’ve done it.”_

_She smiles wryly. “One day at a time. So many days taken one day at a time. For you guys—everything was for you guys. It wasn’t so bad at first. You know, there was a time your father swept me off my feet with words—“_

_“Mom,” whines Philip, but she can feel herself smiling for the first time since he’s shown up._

_“Alright, alright. Still, we had some good times when we were younger.” She pauses, changing her tune. “Philip.”_

_“Yeah, Ma?”_

_“Georges, he’s a nice boy.”_

_“Mom?”_

_Eliza smiles, putting on a brave face for her son as she sniffs and fights back tears. “Now, I’ll expecting a phone call and maybe even a visit every once in a while, but don't you come back here. You are better than this place, you always were. I didn’t raise you to give away your days like me. Go be your brilliant self.”_

_“O-ok sure, but Ma?”_

_“Yes?”_

_“We still have the rest of the visit, right?"_

—

Alexander bounces his leg up and down while he sits, waiting for Eliza to decide what she wants.

She looks up briefly from her takeout menu to shoot him a distasteful look. “Can you not?”

“Well, all the kids have decided what they’re gonna order, you’re the only one left.”

“Just, give me a minute.”

He waits a little longer. His impatience getting the better of him, he tries again.

“Eliza—“

“Alexander, are we really gonna do this right now?” interrupts Eliza, keeping her voice low. "Philip is going to be here any minute, and the kids are just in the other room.”

They’re both exasperated with each other. They’ve been through this routine so many times. Eliza tries to implore him with her eyes. Please. Not right now. Not in front of the kids. Please afford me one moment of peace. She looks down at the menu, trying hard to decipher the words in her distracted and irritated state but not really comprehending anything.

“I just want to know what you want."

“Oh my God, Alexander…“ Eliza shakes her head in disbelief, tossing her menu on the coffee table in resignation, the words ringing in her ears and in her brain and making her head hurt.

“Just—“

Eliza finally snaps, years of patience and grace and holding her tongue all culminating into one rash moment.

“I want a divorce.”

—

_Just Georges' stroke of luck, it seems like he’s the only college freshman to be at Philip’s senior prom. Driving all the way down here to go to a kid’s high school dance is not something just any good friend would do, no matter what they would like to have people believe. He’s the best boyfriend ever; Philip better know this. He tries to keep his breathing regular, eyes darting frantically as Philip takes his hand, leading him through the throng of kids to get to the dance floor._

_“Oh, I don’t—“ protests Georges but Philip ignores him, coercing him into swaying awkwardly to the music with him._

_“C’mon, it’ll be fun!” says Philip, giving Georges his most charming smile that almost manages to calm his nerves, but he still can’t help feeling out of place, towering above the other kids; everyone is surely staring, he just knows it. He can’t have people staring._

_“Philip, I—“ says Georges, and is it just him or is it hot in here?_

_“Are you alright?” asks Philip._

_Georges nods. “Can we take a break?"_

_“Of course," Philip takes him aside right away, and Georges is thankful, but Philip is quickly distracted by a pretty girl in a blue dress who Georges quickly recognizes as his sister’s ex girlfriend, holding hands with Frances Laurens._

_“Frances! Theodosia!” says Philip as he waves them over. Theodosia smiles graciously and Frances nods in recognition. “Theo, you look great,” says Philip as he gazes appreciatively at her. Georges reflexively gives Philip’s hand a squeeze._

_“Thanks!” says Theodosia as she beams at him. “Oh, I love this song.”_

_“Me, too."_

_Georges can see Philip is itching to get back out there. “You should go. Have some fun.”_

_“But—“_

_“I’ll be alright.”_

_Philip turns to Theo. “Whaddaya say?”_

_“Me?” asks Theo._

_Philip laughs. “Yeah, you.”_

_“Oh,” says Theo, turning back to Frances. “But—“_

_“It’s cool, if you want to,” says Frances, She waves a hand, trying to brush it off in a way that seems cavalier, but her smile seems tight._

_Georges doesn’t know if its his imagination or the lighting, but Theo’s expression seems to fall slightly. “You don’t mind?”_

_“Yeah, Frances, I don’t want to intrude on you on your date or anything,” says Philip earnestly._

_“Oh, we’re not together or anything. It’s not a big deal, really. She can dance with whoever, we’re just here as friends. It’s all good, I’ll stay here with Georges,” says Frances. “How’re your sisters doing?” she asks him, quickly changing the subject._

_“I hardly see Anastasie, but Virginie is doing better than ever.”_

_Georges doesn’t miss the look Theodosia gives Frances—one that is almost definitely a glare—as she snatches Philip by the hand and practically drags him onto the dance floor._

_He and Frances hang around the punch bowl for most of the night. “Congrats on finally getting your girl,” says Georges._

_“She’s_ not _my girl.”_

_“Sure. Who’s she dancing with now?” He gestures over to the dance floor._

_Frances shrugs, but she doesn’t look away from Theodosia as she answers, arms folded tight across her chest. “Some dude. It doesn’t matter. She can do what she wants.”_

_Georges rolls his eyes. “Laurens, you can be so obtuse.”_

_“Excuse me?”_

_“Can’t you see she’s trying to make you jealous?”_

_“Jealous? I am_ not _jealous.”_

_“Uh-huh.” He smirks, taking a drink from his cup._

_“Well, what about you, you hypocrite? Don’t tell me you haven’t been keeping tabs on Philip all night.”_

_“Philip doesn’t care if I’m jealous or not,” mutters Georges. “He’s just friendly.”_

_“He’s flirting. You better watch it ‘cause unlike me that’s your actual boyfriend out there dancing with other people.”_

_“I’m not worried,” says Georges, more out of spite than genuine honesty because just then Philip takes Theodosia by the hand again and it takes every fiber in his being to fight back the sting of jealousy._

—

“I’m going to be a terrible mother."

Peggy looks over at Martha in surprise, who is sitting beside her on the couch watching tv.

“What makes you say that?” Peggy asks through a yawn, brow furrowed sitting up a little straighter. She glances over at clock to check the time. Yikes.

Martha doesn’t even look her way. “I don’t know. As of right now I have no degree, no home, and no father for my baby. I don’t even like children.”

“Well, you won’t be alone,” says Peggy. “You’ll have me… Us. Me and my sisters. and John.”

Martha sighs. “Yeah.”

A few weeks later Peggy receives more news from Martha.

“John and I are getting married,” says Martha, her head in Peggy’s lap, already half asleep as they sit together on the couch in Peggy’s apartment, just like always.

Martha is so cavalier about it—like she hasn’t just dropped a bomb that is going to change everything, like this isn’t earth-shattering news, like she’s totally oblivious to how Peggy felt through all those “you’re the only girl I’ve ever liked”s and “Only gay for you”s and “this is just a one time thing”s that are never really just a one time thing. She expresses her happiness for Martha, she really does, and when Martha asks her to be the maid of honor, Peggy hugs her through misty eyes.

Martha tells her it’s okay, just because she’s moving out doesn’t stop them from being best friends. But when Martha leaves, Peggy misses the sticky notes left all over the apartment, the slight smell of perfume, the hideous red curtains that gave the apartment a “pop of color”, the half empty bottles of hair products taking up all the counter space in the bathroom, and most of all, she misses tv nights on the couch together.

—

Peggy meets a girl at a bar. Ok, it’s not as sad as it sounds. First of all, she’s the bartender, and her name is Maria Reynolds. What’s more, she’s drop dead gorgeous—with long hair and red lips and sad eyes—and has just a dry enough wit to make her laugh, has a good listening ear, and allows her forget about Martha for just a couple of hours. She allows Peggy to vent about the straight girl who broke her heart, and Maria responds with a story about her good for nothing ex-husband. And maybe it’s because Peggy’s tipsy and it’s part of the job description for Maria to be a good listener, but Peggy really feels like Maria gets her, she really gets her.

Maria is technically not supposed to drink on the job, but before Peggy has to leave Maria slips in one toast. “To being the family disappointment,” says Peggy, allowing the bitterness to drip through in her voice.

Maria shakes her head, raising a glass. “No. To Freedom."

—

Angelica is at JFK airport for her flight to Paris when she hears a familiar voice calling her name.

"Angelica! Angelica, I need to talk to you.”

She can feel the sinking feeling of dread in her stomach. Steeling herself, she turns around to see Dolley standing there, slightly out of breath—just as she had predicted.

“Angelica, please.”

She grits her teeth together. “Yes?”

Dolley winces, taken aback by the cold greeting. “I need to tell you something."

Angelica turns away again, walking away from her. “I gotta catch my flight.”

“I have something to tell you."

"I don’t have anything to say to you,” says Angelica, still not slowing down or looking back.

Already several feet behind, Dolley hurries to try to match her stride. “Angelica, wait.”

“Why should I?”

“You’re mad at me, I get that, but can we at least talk about this instead?”

“Eliza told me that you haven’t been answering her calls. Real classy. I thought you were different. I thought…”

“I can explain.”

“I’d love to see you try.”

“You were the one who told me to not let anyone stop me from chasing what I want, right?"

“Yes?”

“This is me doing that.”

Angelica hesitates. “What kind of sister would I be if I just dropped everything for the girl who broke her heart?” She just wants this to be over. She just wants to be through that gate already. She just wants—

“Angelica.”

She stops long enough for Dolley to catch up to her. “What?” she snaps, and Dolley withers under her icy glare.

“Tell me, honestly and sincerely, that you don’t feel something between us. I can’t be alone on this.”

“Of course not...” says Angelica, and she can feel her face growing hot. An skilled liar she may be, but she knows Dolley would be able to see right through her on this one. "But Eliza—"

“She won’t be sad forever. Eliza is a strong girl, she will find someone else, and she’ll forgive you, I know she will. You’ll survive this.”

“Yes, but I don’t know if we will,” says Angelica quietly.

“Eliza will be ok. She’ll move on. She’ll forgive both of us. You guys have been through everything together, you’re the Schuyler sisters!”

“No, Eliza will be fine. I mean… Us. You and I…” Angelica looks down at the floor, carefully avoiding Dolley’s eyes, the words heavy on her tongue. "We won’t survive this."

“Just give it some time.”

“That’s it, that’s just it. It’s not the timing, Dolley. It’s us. It’s you. You’re too scared.”

“I’m not the one running off to Paris."

"Don’t flatter yourself. I have dreams of my own, did you ever think of that? I spent my whole life keeping secrets. I’m not about to have one more. Not at this point in my life.”

“If you would just wait—”

“I’m done waiting. I have a flight to catch.”

“Angelica, won’t you at least give me a chance?"

Angelica stops, turning around to look back at Dolley.

“Kiss me. Right here, in front of all these people.”

Angelica watches her, waiting expectantly, but she already predicts what the outcome will be before it happens. But she waits, a shameful part of her hoping beyond hope that Dolley will prove her wrong. When Dolley avoids eye contact, eyes diverted shamefully toward the floor, Angelica has her answer.

“I wish you the best of lucky, Dolley,” she mutters quietly and with complete sincerity, all her anger fizzled out only to be replaced with a pang of sympathy. “I really do.”

She turns to leave, and this time, Dolley doesn’t follow her.

“Angelica. Angelica, wait,” calls Dolley, but her voice is timid.

She’s too far away by now to hear the last part. Maybe it’s just her imagination, but she swears she can hear the words “I love you” called to her in Dolley’s distant voice.

Angelica hesitates—halting where she stands for what could only be a few seconds but feels like an eternity—before finally getting a grip and moving on, leaving Dolley behind, a shrinking presence in the distance looking small and helpless and defeated.

It’s hours later while Angelica is in the middle of her flight to Paris when she finally wonders if she made the right decision. She closes her eyes, trying to rest but all she can see are a pair brown eyes—sharp and intelligent and now wounded because of her.

 _It’s what Eliza would have wanted_ , she tells herself.

She tries not to think about what might have happened if she had stayed, if her her hasty judgement hadn’t cost her. She tells herself that they would have ruined each other, that she’ll be much happier like this, chasing her ambitions while Dolley chases hers. She tells herself it was the right decision, not to wait.

 _She will never be satisfied, I will never be satisfied_.

—

_Philip and George hit their first real rocky patch the summer before Philip’s first year of college._

_“Philip. It’s ok. We’re not done for good, we’re just taking a break.”_

_“You know what happens when couples take breaks?” his boyfriend wails, pacing back and forth in his bedroom. "It takes them ten seasons to get back together. Do you want that to be us?” Philip sits down on the edge of his bed._

_Georges rolls his eyes. “You watch too much tv. And besides, we’re too codependent, I think it would be good for both of us.” He sits beside Philip, patting him consolingly on the back._

_“Don’t dump me, please. We can work through this,” says Philip, burying his face in his hands, and Georges is surprised by the desperation in his voice._

_“Philip, relax.,” says Georges, and this time when he speaks his voice is much gentler. "I’m not going anywhere.”_

_“I don’t want to end up like my parents' refrigerator.”_

_Georges snorts. “I’m sorry, what?” he asks, fighting back laughter, simultaneously amused and surprised by Philip’s ability to say that with the utmost sincerity._

_“You’ve seen my parent’s refrigerator, haven’t you?”_

_“Where are you going with this?” asks Georges, one eyebrow raised._

_“I’m getting there, but answer the question.”_

_“Pre or post the… Other Woman?”_

_“Post.”_

_Georges shakes his head._

_“It’s terrible. They have labels for everything with their names on them—that way they know what belongs to who. Everything’s gotta be separate. Dad sleeps on the couch now. They can’t even drink a soda with the wrong label on it without going into a whole Thing about it! Guys. It’s just soda. It’s just. Soda.”_

_“Philip,” says Georges, trying his best to keep a straight face._

_“You’re laughing at me.”_

_“No, I swear I’m not,” replies Georges through a smile that is both amused and sympathetic._

_“Yes, you are.”_

_“Philip."_

_“What?” he snaps._

_“If it makes you feel any better, I promise that I won’t cheat on you while we’re on a break.”_

_Philip rolls his eyes, but Georges is pleased to see him smile again. “Don’t be an ass.” He nudges Georges in the shoulder with his own, which Georges nudges back playfully in response._

_“Not everyone is doomed to end up like their parents. Hell, I couldn’t be less like mine if I tried.”_

_“You could be straight,” says Philip._

_Georges nods slowly, but his lips are a thin line. “Fair enough. Anyways, distance isn’t always a bad thing. My mom got her own place a few years ago; she and Dad are getting along better than ever.”_

_“Alright, just… promise me that we won’t end up like my parent’s refrigerator.”_

_“Philip Schuyler-Hamilton. I swear that we will never end up like your parent’s refrigerator. No matter what, we’re still best friends.” Georges stands up, Philip scrambling to follow him,. “I’d better go.”_

_“You sure?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_Philip leans in, glancing at his lips, and for a moment Georges is almost sure that he’s about to kiss him, not even realizing he’s been holding his breath in anticipation. However, at the last second Philip hesitates, and instead holds a hand out for Georges to shake. Georges, in a mixture of confusion, disappointment, and slight amusement, takes Philip’s hand and shakes it._

_Georges is still self-assured in his decision, but that doesn’t stop the disappointment in losing out on that last kiss from getting to him._

—

Hercules is over at Laf’s place again when he has a realization.

He’s spending the night in the guest room, same as usual. Anastasie is away at university; the kids have gone to sleep. The two of them are just sitting in the living room together, doing nothing in particular.

Hercules feels so at home here. He catches a glimpse of Laf, who is sitting in an armchair across the way—in their reading glasses, scribbling something down on a piece of paper. When they glance up at him, they finally take notice of Herc's staring, something he hadn’t even picked up on himself yet.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” asks Laf, setting their pen down.

For a moment, Herc doesn’t answer, still caught in a trance-like state. Laf looks so… beautiful. Yeah. They’re not even done up in their usual garb, and Herc thinks they’re beautiful.

“Hercules?"

This seems to shake him. “I think I’m in love with you,” he blurts out before he can stop himself.

“I-I’m sorry, you what?” asks Laf, clearly shaken as their voice lowers to nearly a whisper as they pale slightly.

“I think I love you. I’m not sure. I’ve never been in love before. I’m not sure how it’s supposed to feel.” Herc shifts around uncomfortably in his seat, Laf still seemingly unable to answer, so he continues. “I’m not even sure if that’s what it is. It’s not like this been sweeping romantic rush of emotions or anything—no offense, Laf, you’re very attractive.”

Laf chuckles fondly. “None taken."

“It feels, I don’t know... more like coming home at the end of a long day? Fuck, that’s so corny. I’m not expecting you the change for me, obviously. I’d never want that. I’m not demanding to be the only one in your life, or anything like that. But we’re basically already raising a family together. I just want to know if you feel the same way."

Laf looks down at their hands, not saying anything for a while. Hercules desperately wishes to know what they’re thinking.

Finally, they speak. “Remember when I had a huge crush on you growing up?’

“Oh my God, yeah. When I used to babysit you. You once tried to tell me I was your soulmate.”

He’s nearly forgotten, but the memories flood back, filling him with nostalgia, each more absurd and endearing than the last.

To Herc’s surprise, Lafayette bursts out laughing, and Hercules joins in after a moment, chuckling quietly. “ _Mon Dieu_ , I forgot about that!” they say through their laughter. Lafayette has a fond expression on their face that Hercules doesn’t quite understand. When Lafayette has finally calmed enough to compose themself, they say, “The answer is yes.”

“I’m sorry?” asks Herc, mind drawing a blank.

“I do feel the same way. Of course I do. I thought you knew. You’re my qp.”

“Your what?” asks Hercules, shooting Laf a quizzical look.

“ _Merde_.” Laf rubs at their temples, brow furrowed as they think hard. “What’s that word Virginie was telling me about the other day? Oh, that’s right! ‘Queerplatonic’. My queerplatonic partner. Not necessarily romantic, but an intimate bond closer than a friendship. That’s how she explained it, anyways."

“Oh, uh… Neat!” says Herc lamely. “Well, as your new established qp… Wanna maybe go out some time?”

Lafayette laughs, the warmth in their smile infectious. “ _Oui_.”

—

_“I don’t get why going to this thing is so important to you,” says Georges._

_“Because I want to show my support. What about that is so hard for you to get, Georges?”_

_Virginie frowns, brow furrowed as she tries to focus on painting the poster in front of her, trying hard to ignore Georges looming figure hovering above her, arms folded in disapproval._

_“Well, even as a gay… supporter,” says Georges, and Virginie doesn’t miss his hesitation. He wrings his hand anxiously, watching her with his usual worried expression as she sits on her knees and continues to paint her sign. “I would feel a lot safer if you stayed at home. You don’t know what the police are like here in America.”_

_“I can’t just sit here and do nothing. I—shit,” she hisses out, accidentally getting paint on her jeans._

_“You’re only fourteen.”_

_“So? Can’t you cover for me, it’ll only be a couple of hours.”_

_“No, I won’t cover for you!”_

_“Why not?”_

_Georges stammers for a moment, trying to find the words. “Because!"_

_"Don’t act like you don’t hear all the things everyone says about our family. Aren’t you tired of getting picked on at school?”_

_“Yes, but—“_

_“What about all those stories Mom and Dad would tell us about? How they would go to protests because they were fighting what they believed in. Can’t you see I’m trying to do the same thing, here?”_

_“I see that—“_

_“Gender is fucking fake,” she says, practically throwing fit as she throws her brushes on the floor, fighting back tears. "It’s fucking fake. It’s a fucking social construct, and we get teased and bullied and called names for fucking nothing, it’s a label, it’s bullshit. It’s—“_

_“Actually, just because it’s a social construct doesn’t mean it doesn’t have an impact onto people’s lives. You’re only fourteen, I wouldn’t expect—"_

_“Georges, I’m trying to make a point! This is exactly what I’m talking about! It’s like you don’t even care.” Virginie mutters the last part, aiming for her words to sting._

_“Of course, I care! How can you say something like that?”_

_Virginie almost immediately regrets saying it, and she avoids her brother’s gaze and tries to keep herself occupied, hoping it’ll work to hide her guilt._

_“But—“_

_Georges finally explodes, and Virginie nearly jumps back in fright because dear Georges has never before now raised his voice at her in his life._

_“I worry about my entire family the minute they step out the door! There isn’t a moment of the day I’m not scared for you guys. I just want you to be safe.”_

_“… I’m sorry. I-I didn’t know, Georges. I’ll stay.” Virginie sits down next to Georges, resting a hand on his shoulder in a way that she hopes is consoling. When Georges doesn’t answer, she tries again. “Hey, remember that time dad fucking decked a guy?”_

_“For calling us f—well, you know. Oh yeah, I remember. Right outside the school and everything.”_

_“Greatest moment of my life.”_

_Georges is quiet for a moment. “… Me, too.” He manages a small smile, nudging her playfully on the shoulder, a familiar gesture that she reciprocates. “You know what?”_

_“Hm?”_

_“When is this protest thing you’re going to?”_

_“Oh! It’s tomorrow.”_

_“Great. I, um… I’m coming with you.”_

_Virginie perks up. “Really?”_

_Georges face splits in a wide grin. “Of course. But I’m not wearing a rainbow patch.”_

_Virginie practically squeals as she jumps up and gives her brother a big hug._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... I really like Fun Home, In the Heights, and the movies Saving Face & Little Manhattan if you can't tell? 
> 
> Remember chapter one when so much of the focus was on gender and sexuality? Yeah. This fic has turned into a melodrama.
> 
> Feedback is welcome! I thrive off your guys comments.


	5. Chapter 4: The Road Not Taken Just Four Miles From Our Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas is meddlesome, Frances finds a new role model, and Dolley makes an unexpected guest appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you guys miss me? Anyways, thanks to everyone who comments, I love you guys.
> 
> Anyways, reminder that this is written in a non-linear format so there is a somewhat gradual progression of time but most of it just hops back and forth. Also, I've decided to no longer differentiate the next gen & original gen segments by italicizing them, since as the timeline progress they blur together anyways. That's my excuse.

“So... How’d it go?” asks Thomas, foot tapping under the table as he watches James intently for his reaction.

“Good.”

To his disappointment, James takes a drink from his coffee, not even looking up from his book.

So their coffee date’s not going as well as Thomas had hoped. He’s sure James still appreciates when he drives up to visit, but there’s a distance that Thomas can’t quite place, and it’s beginning to bother him. He tries again.

“Oh, come on, James! Give me some details."

James glances up at him briefly. “It was great. Can we change the subject?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Unsatisfied with this answer, Thomas pesters him further. “James, what’s the matter?”

“I said it was nothing.”

He watches James for a moment, trying to gage what could possibly be wrong. Thomas sits back in his chair, watching James with wide eyes as his mind comes to a conclusion. “You didn’t like him.”

“I’m not saying that—“

Quick to harp on James, he practically jumps forward pointing an accusatory finger. “Aha! So you didn’t like him!”

James raises an eyebrow. “Did you really just ‘Aha!’ me?”

Thomas ignores him. "What was wrong? I was so sure this time. You two have so much in common!"

James sighs, putting down his book and finally looking up at Thomas. “Nothing was necessarily wrong. I’m just saying, can you please stop setting me up with people just because they’re gay.”

Thomas gasps in a way that’s mostly dramatizing, but has a hint of truth to it. “What? You think—“

“Thomas,” says James, and there’s a note of finality in his voice that finally gets Thomas to shut up, “Just. Leave it.” He gives his friend a pointed look and a small smile—which Thomas appreciates—before returning to his book.

“Okay…” Thomas nods, still trying to process the information, but ultimately respecting his friend’s limits—for the time being. "Okay.”

—

"Papa said to be home by sundown,” reprimands Georges as his sisters walk on ahead of him.

“Daddy doesn’t need to know,” responds Virginie, largely ignoring her brother as she takes in the sights of New York with wide eyes.

“Daddy said not to go downtown.”

Anastasie smiles patiently as she paps him on the cheek. “Like I said, you’re free to go.” She follows her sister who is already several feet ahead, and Georges sulks but nevertheless tags along.

Virginie is ecstatic, running around like a kid in a candy store. No way is he leaving his fourteen year old sister to fend for herself in the big city, even if she did have Anastasie to accompany her.

—

 _“I love you,” says Alex when their lips finally part, and it’s like John’s heart stops._  
_“I’m sorry, what?” asks John indignantly as Alex finally turns to leave, already heading down the fire escape. John sticks his head out the window. “Alex?” he hisses into the night, trying to keep his voice down._

_John can hear Alex laugh. “I love you, John!” he repeats, like an proclamation to the world._

—

Alex is flirting with the woman at front desk. He’s flirting and smiling, and the woman is laughing, and John feels like he’s about to vomit. He can’t believe this is happening again. Maybe he’s just being paranoid. Alex is friendly, he tells himself. Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding. But no, he recognizes those signals bright and clear; Alexander leaning in when he laughs, the woman tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. John knows what this is, and so he books it.

To his surprise, Alex actually chases after him when he storms out.

“Babe, wait!”

“Alex, not right now,” seethes John with as much venom as he can muster, not bothering to look back. Not now. Not in public.

Alex grabs for his hand, but John quickly wrenches it away.

“John, what happened? I looked up and one minute you were there, and the next minute you were gone!”

“I can’t take much more of this,” says John, talking to no one in particular. The tension builds in his chest, making it hard to breathe.

“More of what?”

“You!” he snaps, finally turning to face his boyfriend. “Everywhere we go, it’s like you can’t help yourself. Whether it’s on campus, at the store, the club—“

“Is that what you’re mad about?”

“You were flirting with the woman in rubber!” says John indignantly, now fuming. How could Alexander be so cavalier about the whole thing?

“There will always be women in rubber flirting with me!” says Alexander through an amazed laugh, much to loud for John’s taste, and he blushes a light shade of red. “Give me a break! What do you want from me?”

John’s voice is firm. “ _Commitment_.”

Alexander gets down on one knee dramatically, taking one of John’s hands in his and kissing it. John’s eyes dart to the people on the street, instinctively worried about what other people might think. He’s able to rest a little easier when nobody seems to take notice, but he’s still on edge.

Then Alexander smiles. And after spending so long feeling burnt out on his affection for his partner, Alex’s smile reminds John of why he loves him in the first place. It’s both endearing and infuriating.

“Baby, that’s all you had to say."

—

_“This is weird.”_

_“It’s weird.”_

_“Very weird.”_

_“Fucking weird.”_

It _shouldn’t_ be weird because, hell, John is married, and he and Alex were best friends for a long time, and they’ve been broken up for some time now, but there’s no other way to describe it. Meeting Alexander’s girlfriend is fucking weird.

Eliza is fuming. She didn’t want to be here in the first place, stuck in this situation with only her boyfriend's ex to get her out.

She can repeat herself as much as she likes: phrases like “you’re wrong” and “it’s different with me”, but John sees the warning signs. He can sympathize. She seems like a sweet girl. Still, he can’t even bring himself to tell her get out while she still can. Maybe out of spite, but it might also be that Alexander is just that damn good.

So they’re not friends. But they can learn to get along.

—

Respecting his friend’s wishes doesn’t last Thomas very long.

“So you’re the infamous Thomas,” says Dolley Payne with a smirk and an appraising look.

“And you must be Dolley,” says Thomas from where he stands in her doorway, giving her his most winning smile as soon as he catches sight of her. He holds out his hand. She takes it, still eyeing him reluctantly as she shakes his hand. _Good strong handshake_ , he thinks momentarily before saying what he came here to say. "Listen, can we talk?”

“Sure…” says Dolley, and it sounds more like a question than statement as he pushes past Dolley into the apartment, ignoring her bewildered look. Thomas unchecked habit of barging in uninvited into people’s homes may be largely brushed aside by James, but Dolley looks less than thrilled. "James told me about you.”

“Did he?” he says, feigning surprise. Of course James must have told Dolley about him. "Well, only good things I hope."

“Mhm,” she responds tersely, lips pursed and one eyebrow raised.

“James never mentioned you were so attractive."

“I’m engaged,” she says dryly. She shows him her hand, revealing a rather impressive sized rock on her ring finger. "He must’ve forgotten to mention that to you, too. And James never told me you were so—“

“Charming? Devilishly handsome?”

“Purple.”

He shrugs, flipping his scarf over his shoulder in a melodramatic fashion. “It’s magenta, but I’ll take it.”

“So what the hell brings you here?” Dolley asks, closing the door behind her.

“Why wouldn’t I want to meet James’ law school friends?”

When Dolley doesn’t relent on the skeptical look she’s shooting him, he decides to cut the crap. She’s not buying it anyways.

“I was kind of hoping you could do me a favor.”

—

Philip heard from his dad that the Lafayettes would be in town, but for some reason he never expected to see Georges and his sisters in town. He just never figured Georges to be the type to like crowds or busy cities.

Honestly, it’s crazy they even run into each other. Busiest city in the country, and yet he and Theodosia spot them right away—a bright-eyed enby, one pretty girl, and one boy who looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

While Philip has some vague idea that Georges was in town; however, running into Virginie catches Theodosia completely by surprise. There really was nothing quite like summer in the city; someone in a rush meets someone looking pretty.

—

“So, are you going to help me?” asks Thomas.

Dolley shakes her head. “Well, have you ever considered just respecting James’ wishes and just letting him be?”

Thomas is getting pretty familiar with this cafe by now. He’s been getting to know Dolley, but to his surprise their conversation is interrupted—by James of all people.

“Dolley! Thomas!” James says, approaching their table with a huge smile on his face—or as wide of a smile as James Madison could muster. "I didn’t know you two talked.”

Dolley answers with “We don’t” at the same time Thomas responds with a cheery “Yup!"

James raises his eyebrows, and Thomas can pick up that familiar look of suspicion in his eyes.

“Thomas and I were just talking about you,” says Dolley with a chipper smile directed at James before shooting Thomas the smallest of glares, which Thomas takes as a warning sign that she is up to no good. Thomas kicks her under the table, which she ignores best she can, but a small noise escapes her. James doesn’t seem to pick up on the animosity.

“Really?”

Thomas decides to cut in and do damage control. “Yes, on how I will finally get you a date.”

James lets out an exasperated sigh. “Thomas, I told you, leave it.”

“No! I will find you someone if it kills me."

“Please don’t. No more matchmaking.” James lowers his voice. "Look, I didn’t want to tell you this, but you’re really not good at it.”

“Oh.” Thomas tries his best to play it off nonchalantly. It shouldn’t be a big deal, so why does it feel like one?

James checks his watch. “Look, I have to go. I got a class… study, uh… session thing I have to attend.” James plays off the stuttering, but Thomas definitely doesn’t miss him fumbling through his words. An anxious mess his best friend definitely is, but also very careful and precise in his meaning. "It was good seeing you guys. I’m glad you met. Thomas, I’ll see you when I’m through, ok?”

“Bye, Dear!” says Thomas, waving him off as James returns the wave and watching James fondly before Thomas spots the expression on Dolley’s face. "What?”

For a moment, she has a mystified expression before finally turning away. “Nothing.”

He decides to let it go. “So, are you gonna help me or what?”

Dolley sighs. “Look, why don’t I just set him up with Alexander?”

“Alexander? You mean Hamilton?”

“Yes! You know him?”

“Of course, I know him,” snapped Thomas irritably. "You can’t set him up with Hamilton. They’d never in a million years work together. Anyways, James _hates_ Hamilton because he has common sense.”

“I don’t know,” muses Dolley, clearly enjoying Thomas’ agitation a little too much, “ _Alexander has a blind enthusiasm that I think would balance well with James’ tempered pragmatism._ ”

“It’s a recipe for disaster,” he insists, unwilling to admit that she might have a point. Even if she does, there was no way in hell he’s willing to give her the satisfaction of admitting it out loud. “James can do so much better."

“Aw, is someone harboring a crush on their bestie?"

He dismisses the idea with a laugh almost immediately. “A crush? Don’t be ridiculous.”

Dolley rolls her eyes. “Whatever you say."

—

Burr's dropping off Theodosia at school when they notice Laurens doing the same thing nearby.

Theodosia hugs them goodbye and quickly and runs off, and looking over, Burr can spot John having an argument with his daughter.

“Frances, where is your barrette?” asks John, before his little girl can race off. Frances Laurens is covered in scrapes and brightly colored band-aids, and is dressed in an oversized t-shirt and cargo shorts. Clearly, she’s not the barrette wearing type.

Naturally she protests to the hair clip, but John continues, “Put it back, it keeps the hair out of your eyes.”

She obliges, albeit begrudgingly, and not without muttering, “So would a crew cut,” under her breath.

John doesn’t seem to happy about it, but Burr just chuckles quietly as they approach them. “Let her be, Laurens. When I was her age I was just like that.”

Lauren’s doesn’t look too pleased with Burr’s intervention, but doesn’t argue. “Well, if it isn’t the prodigy of Princeton college.” Burr nods in response.

Overhearing their conversation, Frances looks up at them. “You?” she asks, pointing at them, eyes wide in disbelief.

“Frances, it’s rude to point,” chastises John, but Burr only smiles, ignoring John and crouching down so that they're at her level.

“But you’re a boy,” says Frances.

“Frances! _¡Cállate la boca!_ ” hisses John through his teeth, and Burr has to fight back laughter.

“It’s ok!” they say before turning back to Frances. "Actually, I'm not a boy or a girl.”

“Oh.” She pauses, face scrunching up in confusion before shrugging. “I guess that makes sense.”

“But I wasn’t always. I used to be a little girl like you.”

“Then can you tell my dad not to be mad at me if I don’t want to wear my hair clip?”

Now, Laurens is nowhere near Burr’s favorite person, but his daughter is standing in front of them, staring at them with imploring eyes and asking them for a favor. What else can they do but smile for her?

“Of course, I can pass along the message, sweetheart.”

She beams at them, and quickly hugs her dad around the leg and waist area best she can before joining her classmates on the playground.

Burr standing up again, brushing themself off and glancing over at Laurens. Laurens shoots them a quizzical look in response, one eyebrow raised.

“What?” asks Burr.

“Nothing,” says Laurens, shaking his head slightly and looking back at the playground, corner of his lips twitch in a small smile. Burr follows his line of sight and sees Frances hanging upside down from the jungle gym, and chatting animatedly with their own daughter.

“No seriously, what is it?”

“Nothing, nothing! I just didn’t take you for much a sharer, that’s all.”

“Well, I couldn’t let the poor kid wear that hideous thing to school,” says Burr, nodding to the barrette that John is holding, and John rolls his eyes.

“And I could almost swear you had a heart."

For just a moment, Frances and Theodosia glance over at their parents. Burr smiles at Theo, but to their surprise, Frances catches their eye and waves, a gesture which Burr returns.

—

“Hi, Mixter Burr, is Theodosia home?”

There’s this kid standing at Burr’s door, staring at them with this urgent look on her face. She looks awfully familiar, but Burr can’t quite place her. About Theodosia’s age, dark curly hair chopped short, elbows and knees sported brightly colored band-aids, and a face covered in freckles. She’s definitely familiar.

And or some reason, she’s… out of breath and dripping wet, and is that the sound of sirens?

“Um… yes?” is all they can think to say in response. “Do you want me to get her?"

Before the girl can even respond, they hear a rustling and the thumping of footsteps racing down the hall. “I got it, Mapa!” Theodosia brushes past them, grabbing Frances by the hand and pulling her inside.

“Oh my god, Frances!”

_Right, right, Laurens’ kid. That’s how I know her._

Theo continues, eyes wide in shock and amazement. “What on Earth—“

Theo pauses upon realization, she and Frances answering the question at the exact same time. “Fire hydrant.” Theodosia laughs.

Burr raises a single eyebrow and watches the pair of them, but says nothing.

“Here, let me get you a towel,” says Theo, quickly running to grab one, voice still carrying down the hall. “Why do you always do this?” she asks Frances.

Frances shrugs, accepting a towel from Theodosia so that she can dry her hair. _“Hace calor._ It's um... it's hot." Theodosia rolls her eyes. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“It always does.”

“Not to pry,” says Burr, peaking through the blinds to confirm their suspicions—and, yes, that’s a cop car they spot down the street—before turning back to their daughter and her friend. “But by any chance are the cops outside looking for you, Frances?”

“Mapa,” says Theodosia forcefully and giving them a pointed look, but Burr ignores her. “Just, give it a rest, please? It’s just for a little while. It won’t happen again, we promise.”

“Yeah, Mixter Burr,” says Frances with a vigorous nod.

“Hmmm…” Burr gives Frances one last distrustful look, arms folded and scowl in place before relenting. “Alright,” they say through a sigh.

“You can stay with me in my room,” says Theodosia, ushering Frances away.

“Make sure you leave the door open!” calls Burr.

“Stop embarrassing me, Mapa.”

Frances glances back at them momentarily before turning away.

Burr watches them go, glad to have returned to a somewhat state of normalcy as they try not to think about the fact that they're harboring away a pint-sized criminal in their apartment.

—

The promise is a hollow one. Frances pulls the exact same stunt next summer, and the summer after that, and the summer after that. Burr gives up on trying to persuade her to stop. Eventually it reaches the point where if Frances is at the door, Burr doesn’t question it.

“Yo, let me in Mixter B., they’re coming to get me!”

Burr sighs, nevertheless opening the door for her. “Come on in, Frances…”

Upon seeing Frances’ dripping frame, Theodosia giggles from where she’s sitting on the couch.

—

“Are you ready to try again?”

Theodosia prepares herself. “I think I’m ready.”

Frances nods. “Ok. Here we go. _Esquína_.”

“Corner.”

“ _Tienda_.”

“Store.”

“ _Bombilla_.”

“Lightbulb.”

“You sure?”

“I’m… sure.”

“Three out of three, you did alright.”

“Then teach me—“

Theo and Frances stop upon hearing the sound of keys rattling, the opening and closing of a door, and their mapa’s voice calling out. “Theo?”

“In the den, Mapa!” she calls back. Theodosia glances at her phone, muttering to herself and glancing up at Frances. “Jesus, is it that time already?"

Frances jumps up. “I should go,” she says quickly.

“No! You should stay.”

Frances shakes her head.

Burr enters the room. “Frances? I didn’t know you were here. Kid, it’ll do you some good to spend some time at home for a change.” They walk past the two girls and into the hallway.

Theo whispers. “Mapa likes you! Frances, I swear. Don’t take it personally.”

Frances ignores this. “I’ll see you later,” she murmurs to Theo. “I’m heading out,” says Frances to Burr.

Theodosia silently watches her leave.

—

Angelica is sipping her drink minding her own business when someone says her name.

“Angelica?” she hears, and there’s a familiarity to the voice that she can’t quite place.

She turns, and to her surprise, it’s Dolley Payne—or rather, Dolley Payne Todd—in the flesh and looking a little bit like she’s seeing a phantom.

“Dolley!” says Angelica, setting down her drink on a nearby table holding out a hand, and she’s thrown off-guard when Dolley leans in and pulls her into a hug.

When they pull apart, Dolley is smiling at her in a way that is way too genial considering how their last encounter went how many odd years ago. “It’s so good to see you! What the hell are you doing here?”

“Oh, Thomas and I go way back,” says Angelica nonchalantly. “But what about you?”

“James,” says Dolley matter-of-factly. “He and I went to the same law school, been friends ever since. Small world, huh?”

Angelica nods, grabbing her drink again and taking another sip.

"The Jefferson-Madisons really know how to throw a party, huh?”

Angelica snorts, fighting the urge to mention how this pleasant get-together hardly holds a candle the ragers Thomas used to throw as a teenager.

“Is something funny?” asks Dolley.

Angelica shakes her head vigorously. “Oh no, it’s just that Thomas has mellowed a lot since high school. Only don’t tell him I said that,” she adds hastily. "He’d probably die if he ever found out I called him or any of his parties boring.”

“It’s probably James’ influence,” says Dolley, snickering. Angelica takes another drink from her glass. “I kinda like it though. Does that mean I’m getting old?”

“Probably. You look pretty spry for an old person, though.”

Dolley rolls her eyes, stifling a quiet laugh behind her hands. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

Talking with her feels so easy. Familiar. Like their last conversation hadn’t taken place over 20 years ago or ended in broken hearts for both parties.

“Anyways, how’ve you been, Dolley?”

Dolley nods, her lips a thin line. “Ah, so I’m guessing you heard about the divorce?”

“What gave you that impression?”

“Oh, because you did the little sympathetic head-tilt everyone does.” She mocks Angelica, tilting her head to the side and saying in a sympathetic tone, “‘How've you been?’"

Angelica laughs, ears burning a little, and she hopes Dolley doesn’t notice that she’s blushing. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” says Dolley, and Angelica is relieved to see that she’s still smiling. “I’m fine, I’m fine. How about you?”

“Oh, I’m good,” says Angelica. Dolley has a fond expression on her face that she can’t quite place.

“You look great,” says Dolley, looking her up and down and, and Angelica know’s for sure that she’s blushing now.

“So do you,” murmurs Angelica, and she really means it. Over 20 years and she’s hardly aged a day.

Dolley is beaming at her like she put the sun in the sky, and Angelica feels like a fool because 20 years is a long time.

They're both well into adulthood, single, and have stable and successful careers. It could be so easy to just pick up where they left off. And Eliza… Angelica isn’t one to keep secrets from her sisters, but she never told Eliza about Dolley’s airport chase. But in any case, her sister is grown woman who has let bygones be bygones.

If any time was the time, it would be now. But it’s not about the time. It’s never been about the time.

And Dolley. Dolley is the wrong girl at the right time.

_It’s not the timing, Dolley. It’s us._

Dolley sighs. “I’ve missed you."

The exact phrase Angelica was afraid of hearing.

“Dolley,” she warns, even as she begins to feel that fluttery feeling in her stomach and she fights with herself internally to get a grip.

“What is it?”

“Let’s not go through this again.”

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to—"

Before Dolley can finish, Eliza approaches Angelica, not even bothering to glance over at Dolley before she starts talking, distractedly rummaging through her purse all the while.

“Here, do you want this?” asks Eliza, not even waiting for an answer as she hands Angelica her drink, still searching through her purse for whatever the hell she’s looking for. “I grabbed one because Thomas insisted, but then I forgot I’m designated driver. Did I mention that it’s so nice being at one of these without worrying about Alexander picking a fight with the host? Because it is.”

Angelica takes her glass, too surprised to respond any different as she shoots Eliza a very quizzical look. “You know, if we want we could just call an Uber—“

“No,” says Eliza through a sigh, “I have to drop off the kids at camp tomorrow, and I do not want to do that while sporting a headache.”

“What the hell are you looking for, anyways?” asks Angelica, one eyebrow raised as she cranes her neck to try to get a look into her sister’s purse without spilling either drink.

Dolley’s lips are pressed together, and Angelica can tell she is suppressing laughter.

“My phone,” says Eliza, still fishing through her purse. “James was asking about Philip, and I wanted to show him the pictures he sent, you know the ones of him and Georges? But—“

Angelica gets an idea.

“Eliza?”

“What?” she asks, not looking up.

“Eliza,” she tries again, much more forcefully this time, and when Eliza glances up, Angelica gives her sister a pointed look in Dolley’s direction.

“What?” snaps Eliza a second time, and when she spots Dolley, she freezes, one hand still in her purse. “Dolley?"

Dolley giggles, giving Eliza a small wave. “Hello, Eliza.” She beams, and the way Dolley is looking at her sister makes Angelica feel like an intruder at the party.

Eliza pales, eyes wide. For a moment it’s just the two of them, standing there, one in shock and one in pure joy and amusement, and it’s like the rest of the world disappears. Angelica’s been forgotten, not even sure if she exists to either one in that moment.

And in that moment, Angelica gets it.

Eliza just stands there in complete silence—while Angelica looks back and forth between the two of them—before finally just turning around and heading in the other direction without saying another word.

Probably could’ve gone better.

Angelica smiles apologetically at the now bewildered Dolley. “Excuse me just one moment,” she pardons herself before quickly following her sister.

—

_I have never been the type to try and grab the spotlight,_

_We were at a revel with some rebels on a hot night,_

_Laughin' at my sister as she’s dazzling the room,_

_Then you walked in and my heart went “Boom!"_

_Tryin’ to catch your eye from the side of the ballroom_

_Everybody’s dancing and the band’s top volume_

_Grind to the rhythm as we wine and dine_

_Grab my sister and whisper “Yo, this one’s mine."_

—

“What the hell was that?” asks Angelica when she finally is able to catch up with her sister. Eliza’s hanging by the staircase, avoiding interaction and just generally seems to be freaking out.

“You didn’t tell me she was going to be here,” says Eliza, eyes closes as she takes deep rhythmic breaths trying to calm herself, face beginning to grow hot.

“That’s because I didn’t know,” says Angelica incredulously.

Eliza nods slowly, eyes still closed. “I’m so stupid, she takes one look at me, and I’m helpless. I feel like I’m twenty again—same naivety only with none of the energy.”

Angelica chuckles quietly, and Eliza can sense the spark of an idea resurfacing in her older sister as her eyes widen. “Give me a minute.”

“Oh, no.” Eliza quickly and instinctively grabs Angelica by the hands, pulling her sister closer before she is able to turn away. “Don’t make me face her. I couldn’t. I mean,” Eliza bows her head, looking down at their hands and away from Angelica’s gaze, “I saw the way she was looking at you.”

“Did you see the way she was looking at _you?”_ asks Angelica, looking at her in amusement and disbelief, but Eliza just shakes her head, eyes tightly shut.

“Listen,” says Eliza, and Angelica can sense her wariness in her voice alone, “If I’m the whole reason you guys never—“

Angelica interrupts her. “What? Eliza, no, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Don’t coddle me on this one, Angie,” says Eliza, finally looking at her sister, piercing gaze trying to convey just how seriously she means what she’s saying. "I need to know."

“Look, whatever feelings that might’ve been there twenty years ago, it doesn’t matter. Dolley and I, we were doomed right from the start. Let’s face it, we were never going to work out in the first place.”

Eliza nods, still not looking entirely convinced. “Do you love her? Because I’ll be ok if you do. I’m willing to let go of any past history. It’ll take some getting used to, but I’ll be fine.”

It's a pretty good lie. She almost has herself convinced for a moment there.

But Angelica shakes her head.

“This is my decision, Angelica. I’m stepping back. It’s my choice to make."

Angelica nods. “Wait here.”

“Angelica,” says Eliza, barely able to bring her voice above a whisper, but her sister ignores her, turning to leave, and Eliza quickly loses her in the crowd of chattering guests. Eliza feels sick to her stomach.

_What on earth is she doing?_

—

It’s been ten minutes, and Angelica still hasn’t come back. Eliza cranes her neck, trying to peer through the crowd talking guests, but no sign of her.

“Angelica?” she tries. Naturally, there’s not response.

Beginning to get anxious, Eliza decides to go looking for her sister. In her searching, she spots Dolley talking to James, and quickly turns away in the hopes that Dolley won’t see her.

Her face feels hot, she’s trying to get a grip of herself because holy shit, that’s Dolley right over there.

Eliza's been in this situation before. It'd be so easy to walk away, disappear into the background, find her sister, let the moment pass.

 _Think, Eliza, think._ What would Alexander do?

Alexander would talk to her. Alexander would be brave, charming, flirtatious, probably sleep with her, too—

No. Stay focused.

What would Peggy do if she were in this situation?

Pine from a distance, maybe? Hit on her?

Not exactly helpful.

What about Angelica? What would Angelica do?

Well, It doesn’t really matter what Angelica would do because she’s not here right now, and Eliza isn’t her. She plucks up her courage and marches right over to Dolley Payne because god damnit, she’s tired of waiting for everything. What she says doesn’t really matter, she can make up the rest as she goes along.

Dolley’s eyes go wide when she spots Eliza, but her grin is broad and for whatever reason Eliza can’t comprehend she looks ecstatic. “Eliza!”

It’s in this most opportune moment her mind decides to go blank on her. “Uh… Hi.”

“It’s good to see you again so soon. How've you been?”

_For the love of God, stop doing the "how’ve you been (since the divorce)?" sympathetic head tilt. Do not do this to me._

“Good,” she manages.

“Honestly, I was kind of hoping you’d be here,” says Dolley with a sheepish grin, looking to the side, down at the floor, anywhere that isn’t Eliza’s face.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I finally caved and got a job here in New York. I called you, but you didn’t pick up, so I left a message—“

“New phone number, must’ve missed it,” interjects Eliza all too hastily, and given the skeptical look on Dolley’s face, she can tell she doesn’t believe her—which would be infuriating if she wasn’t right. “If it was during the move—"

Dolley interrupts her, the words rushing out as she blurts, “Do you wanna go out sometime? For coffee or something?” She watches Eliza apprehensively for an answer.

“Dolley…"

Dolley fidgets, going slightly red as she continues, "Now that I’m gonna be living in the city, I figured—“

“I can’t.”

Since she’s making the more of an effort to be more assertive, she’s decided to make the bold decision of playing it safe. She’s not ready for a second heartbreak from the same woman. Not after Alexander.

“Oh.”

After the moment of shock, Dolley recovers with a poised smile, but she looks completely crestfallen. It hurts Eliza more than she expected.

“I, uh…” she hesitates, unsure whether she won’t completely regret this decision later on, “I still don’t have your number.”

The smile on Dolley’s face as she realized what Eliza means is enough to assuage her anxiety.

—

Nobody gets in Angelica Schuyler’s way when she’s on a mission.

Nobody, that is, save for one brilliant gentleman.

She doesn’t even really register someone is trying to talk to her. Angelica has such narrow tunnel vision that it’s not until the person decides to intertwine arms and lead her in an opposing direction that she tries to protest, only to realize that it’s Thomas.

“Thomas, come on, I’m trying—“

“Hang on, I have something to show you real quick.”

“Where the hell are you taking me?”

“I’m about to change your life.”

She rolls her eyes. “Then by all means lead the way. Always so dramatic,” she adds, more so muttering to herself than anyone else.

“Just come. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Who?” asks Angelica, now intrigued.

“Um… An old friend.”

“'Kay…” says Angelica warily, off-put by Thomas’ intentional vagueness.

Thomas walks her out to the terrace. A woman’s standing there, turned away so that her face is hidden from sight. She turns around, and Angelica finally recognizes who it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly what does the title have to do with this chapter... Isn't it great to have none of the issues i brought up in the last chapter totally unresolved? 
> 
> Some clarificiations:
> 
> \- If anyone thinks of coming at me with "google translate Spanish" in this chapter, just know that I'm literally mixed Latinx, and my Spanish isn't great which is why the Spanish is uses sparingly, but the language I used is what I grew up hearing and what I was taught.
> 
> \- Technically, Burr would have been nonbinary as a child since its generally rude & transphobic to imply trans people "used to be" anything, but Burr specifically thinks of themself as an "identity hoarder", and is ok with referring to themself as a girl or a woman in the past (they still do not like being misgendered in the present). This is not the same across the board for the other trans characters. For instance, Eliza would maintain she's always been a girl. Herc generally maintains he's always been transmasculine. For Thomas it's complicated. For Alex it's complicated. 
> 
> \- Lastly, I used to be scared of referencing other works (especially word for word) originally because I was afraid it was derivative, but now I've just kind of surrendered because I have no subtlety with my references. Instead, I'm going to turn it into a game. If you catch all of my references in the comments, you'll be heaped with... prize, of sorts. Some vague prize.
> 
> \- Also yeah, I'm that annoying person who will remind you to comment. Please do.


	6. Chapter 5: Am I Just Like You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every kid is expected to grow up into the legacy of their parents. Whether they aim to meet those expectations or reject them is entirely up to them.
> 
> In which Eliza has some character growth, Philip and Georges are quitters, and Frances is consistently let down by others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my defense, I’ve been distracted with school & I’ve really been working on content with my OCs. I’m guessing the last chapter was more of an eh, since i didn’t seem to get a response? That's alright.
> 
> This fic has really gotten away from me. Next chapter will be up way sooner than this last one bc I'm basically just cutting what I've written so far in half. We're gonna end up delving into some heavy stuff though, just warning.

_"Did you ever imagine I’d hang on to your stuff, Dad? Me either. But I guess I always knew that someday I was going to draw you… In cartoons. Yes, Dad, I know. You think cartoons are silly. But I draw cartoons, and I need real things to draw from, ‘cause I don’t trust memory._

_It all comes back, it all comes back, it all comes back! There’s you. And there’s me. But now I’m the one who’s forty-three and stuck. I can’t find my way through. Just like you. Am I just like you?"_

—

_“So you’re the reason Theodosia is dragging her heels on Stanford?”_

Aaron Burr watches her from their desk, hands folded in front of them. Frances doesn’t respond. Not that she’s ever had much of a problem with talking back to adults, but she feels strangely small beneath his stern gaze. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

“Now,” continues Burr, “it’s probably no secret I would have preferred she attend my alma mater. However,” and as they pause their eyes seem to pierce hers. “I am willing to look past that if this is what she wants.”

“Sir’ram?” asks Frances, not quite understanding.

“Do you love her?”

“Sir’ram, we’re not—“

He ignores her. “Do you love her?” he repeats, more forcefully this time.

She hesitates.

Burr speaks again. “Ever since she was little, I knew she was gifted. I want the best for my family. _If she doesn’t take this scholarship, she may never realize her greatness._ ” They give her a hard look.

She nods, getting up from her chair to leave as she speaks softly, “ _I understand._ ”

Frances leaves, leaving Burr by themself.

—

“Why the hell is Frances at your place every day?” asks John.

“Wait, Frances, you didn’t tell him that you were coming over?” replies Burr, glancing over at Frances quizzically.

Frances, unusually silent, shakes her head.

They look back over at John. “Wait, you honestly have no idea?”

He hesitates, his posture defensive. “What do you mean?

“If you must know, Frances has been coming over to tutor Theodosia in her Spanish.”

“ _My_  Frances?"

“Yes. She’s a smart girl. And she has been nothing but respectful to me and my daughter, so you can put your suspicions away. Give her some credit.”

Out of sight of her father, Frances smiles. Burr offers a small smile back.

—

“ _James!_ ”

“I know, I know.” He mutters it quietly trying to keep his volume down after Dolley’s astonishment, her voice calling some unwanted attention as they study in the library together. Several people have already shot them dirty looks. He carefully avoids Dolley’s gaze.

_I don’t know this woman. I’m just here, working on my thesis._  His face feels hot. He tries to focus on his computer, and paper he’s typing up and not on the fact that his closest friend is flipping her shit over something that absolutely shouldn’t be a big deal.

“But James, seriously? Him?”

He glances up at her, annoyance apparent in his voice as he says, “Okay, ignoring _that_ bit of condescension—“

She hisses under her breath, finally realizing that she’s receiving some unwanted attention, “I could’ve set you up with Alex.”

He shakes his head. “Oh god. I’m getting anxiety just thinking about it.”

Dolley gives him a look. One of her infamous ones that falls under the skeptical-but-also-no-nonsense category. “I fail to see how Alexander is anxiety-inducing and yet Thomas is no problem.”

He responds tersely. “He’s a massive flirt who has spent so much time in leftist circles that he no longer feels fear.”

Dolley rolls her eyes. “Ah yes, so the alternative is clearly the much more grounded and modest Thomas Jefferson.”

He tries to rationalize with himself. Tries to keep his heart from sinking. He never should have told her.

“Look, I’m not saying it’s rational. It’s just... how I feel.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m ridiculous? Oh fuck off, Miss Drove-off-two-thirds-of-the-Schuyler-sisters-in-a-single-day.”

He’s more than a little ashamed of the low dig, but judging by the look on Dolley’s face, he can’t tell whether she’s more hurt or impressed.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“No, no, that’s fair game. I mean, you’re not wrong, I just didn’t think you had it in you. Guess you showed my judgmental ass."

The corner of his mouth twitches in a small smile. "Come on, Dolley, he’s my best friend. You get it.”

“I thought I was your best friend!”

“Dolley,” he replies, his tone caught between a warn and a plea.

Upon seeing the look he give her, she resigns. “Alright, alright. I’ll lay off.”

He sighs. “Thank you.”

They manage to sit in silence for only a moment before Dolley breaks it again.

“Ok but seriously, James? _Thomas_?”

“Dolley, please.”

“Fine, we’ll study in silence like the normal, boring, well-behaved squares we are.”

James nods in agreement, turning back to his paper. He doesn’t know what makes him do it, but not even turning to look at Dolley, he says ever so quietly.

“… He’s really hot, okay?”

Dolley snorts, suppressing silent laughter behind her hand. “My friend, the law student and voice of reason.”

“Shut up.”

“I can’t believe you fell for you best friend. You are such a cliché.”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling nonetheless as he stands up and picks up his laptop. “I’m leaving.”

Dolley continues to laugh as James walks away. “Jemmy, no! Don’t go! I need you to help me study!"

— 

“You fool! Maria, you broke up with that girl two weeks later, why didn’t you say something?"

“Hang on a sec, did you actually just call me a fool?”

Thomas ignores her. “Angelica obviously came to Paris because she wanted to see  _you_.”

“What? Thomas, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Were you even listening to what she was saying? ‘You were the first person I had to tell'.”

“That could mean anything.”

“Whatever, you keep writing your cutesy little postcards back and forth while you live in denial. When it finally happens I’ll be the one saying 'I told you so’.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re insufferable?”

—

Eliza Schuyler is amazing. She’s beautiful, intelligent, graceful, poised, you name it. In a million years, Dolley never would have thought she would date a Schuyler sister. Eliza is perfect the way she is. She might honestly be in love.

It seems too good to be true. Perfect girlfriend, perfect school, perfect life. Dolley’s got it real good.

— 

Martha often stays with Peggy while John is on deployment. She tends to get lonely and reckless when by herself too long, so Peggy really helps with that. And Frances seems to like her which is always a plus. Something about Peggy Schuyler is comforting.

— 

Something about Dolley Payne is exciting. Which is odd because Dolley is all business and ambition and poise, but there’s something secretive and private and special about their relationship.

Not that there aren’t problems—a secret can be exciting but it can also be suffocating, and this relationship being a secret only between their close circle sometimes makes Eliza feel like she’s drowning. There’s something sad about their secret. Maybe it's the fact that they were supposed to be casual and then feelings happened. Feelings are never a good route to follow. They both know they were never meant to last, but for some reason they’re still going strong.

_This maybe might work_. Despite herself, Eliza wants it to work. 

It’s an odd moment making out on the couch together as Eliza thinks, but doesn’t say, _I think that I could be with someone like you._

—

Eliza doesn’t consider herself one to grab the spotlight, but there must be something there if Alexander saw it in her, because Alex is brilliant. When she first falls she always feels a little swept off her feet and out of control, but not necessarily in a bad way. Like something that’s meant to be.

The beginning is so amazing, watching Alexander rise to the top like that. Eliza has never been more proud. Admittedly, there are times when she feels like a part of the periphery, like she’s pacing behind him instead of side by side, but there are other times. Times when he looks at her and smiles, she feels just like she did the first night they met. She can’t help it, she’s a sucker.

Alex isn’t shy like Eliza. He’s probably made almost as many enemies as he has allies. But there’s something about his fire and his drive. She’s a part of that.

— 

John maintains that he didn’t need a savior, he just needed commitment. There’s the rush that Alex gives him, that he’s always seeking, but at the end of the day, you just want something substantial, you know? He didn’t need a savior, he just wanted more.

—

Georges is a supporter. He’s always been a supporter. Philip used to joke that this was the reason he was always so good at beatboxing. He’s not one for the spotlight. All his efforts go into flying under the radar, existing only in the periphery, being good enough to never arouse suspicion or unwanted attention. Georges is normal. He wants to be normal. He’s okay with normal.

Georges is nothing like Philip, who has such a presence whenever he so much as enters a room. Philip can charm anyone with his smile alone. That’s just his smile; never mind what he can do with his words. Or with a pen and paper. Philip has ambitions. Philip isn’t okay with just taking the backseat. People pay attention to what Philip has to say.

And Philip wants _him_.

—

"Eliza, are you alright?” asks Alexander.

“No,” says Eliza. She pauses. Sure, this was the sort of thing to tell your best friend, but was it the sort of think you tell your ex-husband?

_“Do you want me to call anyone?”_

_“No.”_

_“Do you want me to spend the night?”_

_“No.”_

_“Do you want me to go?”_

_“No..._ _Alexander, do you remember the first time we kissed?”_

_He thinks about it. “No."_

_"Me either… You know, I would stand here at the door with Dolley and say “good night,” “take care,” “see ya tomorrow,” “get home safe—“ When what I really wanted to do was plant her a big, fat, wet one. Square on the lips. Nothing confusing about it. She wouldn’t have to think, “Maybe Eliza meant to kiss me on the cheek and … missed.” You know, just right there. Not between friends. Not a friendly kiss, at all. Bigger. So she’d know. She’d know for sure. That I was answering her. People are always asking me, '_ What do you want, Eliza?' _And finally, I let her know. I answered.”_

_—_

“If you really hate interning at Uncle Alex’s law firm that much, why don’t you just quit?” asks Virginie, giving her brother a pointed look as she sits forward in her chair. “You know, instead of bitching about it to me behind his back. Like a coward.”

Georges opens his mouth to respond, but she continues. “Seriously. Bitching to me. Every day. It’s getting old.”

He waits. “Are you quite done?”

“All yours."

Georges lets out a frustrated groan. “It’s not that simple, Virginie.”

“You know, quitting something is not always the end of the fricking world. You just psych yourself into this weird freak-out. I’m telling you, you need to shake that.”

“Wow, so insightful, all the weight has been lifted from my shoulders! My anxiety is gone! I feel so enlightened.”

“I’m sorry. Poor choice of words."

 “What do you think I should do?”

“I dunno how helpful my bias would be. I mean, you already know how I feel about lawyers.”

“Yeah, yeah, everybody knows you hate lawyers. Oh, an corporations. And politicians. And capitalism. And Uncle Alex and his half-assed social progressivism. How is any of this helpful for me?”

“Well, if it were up to me I would say blow the joint. But for some reason—that I can’t possibly comprehend—you drag yourself into the office every single day to be, what, their copyboy?”

“It looks good on an application,” he mutters. Thankfully not crying yet.

“You can’t even argue without crying.”

“You know most lawyers aren’t attorneys,” he says, as he starts to correct her, so familiarly patronizing in that typical Georges way, "clearly Hercules lets you watch too much tv—“

“Avoiding the subject, Georgie.”

“That’s because I don’t know, okay?” he snaps. “I don’t know. I can’t even come up with any sort of reason I would want to do this, besides the fact that it looks impressive on a resume or a college application! It was a stupid idea for someone with crushing anxiety. I’m so wrapped up in trying to be perfect or normal that I can’t even—I don’t even know what my interests are anymore.”

He sits down, head in his hands, and when he does, Virginie doesn’t respond. She just reaches out to pat his shoulder consolingly.

Georges makes a noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “I bet you’re really regretting wanting to stay with me for the summer.”

Virginie offers him a small smile in return. “Are you kidding? If it weren’t for you I’d be helping Pa build the deck in this million degree weather.”

— 

“Um… There was supposed to be some certain way I was gonna say this,” begins Georges. He looks down at his feet, then back up at his sister. “I had this whole speech planned, but I thought that would be excessive.”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure.” He can tell she’s suppressing laughter. It's probably the excessive formality. 

“ _Mon Dieu_ , can you stop? I’m trying to be serious, and you’re completely ruining it. Oh dear, I’m shaking, I—damn it.” He takes a deeps break, trying to even his shaking voice.

Her expression becomes much more serious. “Hey, whatever it is you can come out and say it. Come on, this me you’re talking to.”

“I guess there really is not proper way to say this. I’m not the biggest fan of coming-out narratives, I think too much it plays into the heterosexual public’s ideal of the “proper” way for LGBT people to be happy, and there’s this weird commodification and romanticization of the stories to make them accessible and palatable to a straight audience, and this is probably one of the few things you and I see eye-to-eye about but—“

“Georges, focus."

 “What? Oh, right! Point is, uh… I’m gay.” He waits in anticipation, trying to gauge her reaction. When she doesn’t respond, he continues, “You don’t seem surprised.”

Virginie sighs. “Well,” she adjusts her sitting position to something that couldn’t possibly be more comfortable than what it was previously, but Georges doesn’t think too hard on it, “Georgie, you know I’ll always love you, don’t you? I mean, hello.” She gestures to her entire getup—from the dyed braids and sidecut to the flannel to the rainbow buttons on her jumper. “As much as I hate saying this… I kind of already knew?”

“Oh no.”

Virginie frowns. “I shouldn’t have said anything, I can practically feel you winding up like a spring.”

It suddenly feels harder to breathe. “Am I that obvious?"

“See, that’s why I didn’t want to say anything. I don’t want you to worry. It might just be that as the queerest person alive I hold record for world’s best gaydar.”

Georges nods, too many thoughts racing through his head to say anything.

“There was supposed to be a laugh there. I’m trying to lighten the mood.” All the same, she watches him apprehensively, offering him a sympathetic smile. “I mean, you’re not the manliest bro I’ve ever seen, but you’re ok. I don’t want you to worry. I know you think it’s helpful, worrying. I know it’s only because you care. But sometimes life is out of your control. There comes a point where this worry only results in extra pain for you. Really the only thing that tipped me off is that you spend _a lot_ of time with Philip, and I only know that because I’m your sister.” She pauses. "Am I the first…” She trails off her sentence, hoping the question still comes across.

“Besides Philip, yes the first. Technically I never _told_ him. Admitting it out loud wasn’t as bad as I anticipated.”

“Bro, are you sure you’re ok?” She still eyes him warily.

He nods again, slowly this time.

“Not to sound cynical, but I was expecting some  anxiety-induced panic at some point. You’re holding together surprisingly well."

He shakes his head. “I’ve been waiting for it to hit me, but… nothing.” He felt surprisingly calm. Serene even. Maybe it was the relief.

“Are you sure? Cause I can still grab one of the pots from the kitchen if you’re feeling queasy.”

“I’m fine."

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, your secret is safe with me.”

“Oh, for sure. If you say anything, I’ll tell Uncle Alex who really scratched his “I <3 Capitalism” bumper sticker off his van."

She snorts, blowing off the admittedly not-entirely-convincing threat with a careless hand wave. “Pffft, he already knows. He can’t prove anything, but he knows.”

“Fine, then I’ll tell Papa about all the times you snuck out to see Theo while we were in the states last summer."

She punches him roughly in the shoulder. “You snake!”

—

“I’m bisexual,” says Eliza out loud to her sister. It’s her first time.

Angelica looks up at her. “‘Liza?"

“Jesus... I feel like the kid that would play dress-up with your secret hand-me downs. I don’t know. I never had a problem saying  _that_ , but I think I was afraid of also admitting this, because of stereotypes. Which was only compounded by Alexander and his infidelity and I think that just confirmed all my fears about bisexuals. And there was the stigma about being predatory. You know, because I spend so much time with kids. And I'm trans. It's is complicated. I’m not brave like you. I treated Dolley like a phase until it began to feel real and she, well… I guess I really wasn’t okay with myself until Philip... Philip made me realize that it was okay.”

—

Climbing uphill is hard. It’s hard and Dolley is struggling, not because she isn’t trying because she definitely is. But she’s got to build up her connections and law school is intense, and it’s not quite that Eliza is starting to feel like an obstacle because Dolley definitely loves her, and she would be ludicrous to let her go, but… there’s something off. Eliza is stable and comfortable and always puts their relationship first which is something completely foreign to Dolley. This isn’t what she should want, right? She should want a career—something successful and lucrative and worthy of respect. Relationships were always an afterthought. And as amazing as Eliza Schuyler is, if people found out that Dolley was…

Well, it wouldn’t be great. Dolley can’t accept anything less than great. She’s never going to be the content little housewife living in the suburbs with two kids, a grass lawn, and a white picket fence. She’s better than that.

—

Against her better judgement, Frances decides to tell Theo. Maybe it was the alcohol in her system. Hell, it probably was.

“I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not.” Theodosia’s smiles gently.

“I am, I am. You're moving all the way to California and I’ve never had the guts to say… I like you. I’ve always liked you.”

“Of course Frances, I’ve always known that. You’re my best friend.”

“At the risk of sounding like a complete middle schooler, I more than just ‘like’ you.”

Theodosia frowns, brow furrowing. “Why didn’t you ever tell me this before? You know, before I decided to move across the country.”

“I know, Theodosia. I’m sorry, I just didn’t think you would ever think you’d ever have interest in a person like me.”

“You  _are_  an idiot. A goddamn mess.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Seriously? I’m not going into this right now—“

“Tell me.”

“You seriously couldn’t tell me this before? “Frances, come on. For someone who taught me so much you don’t seem to understand me at all. I'm not dropping my plans for some kid who draws cartoons.”

 She regrets the words almost as soon as they’re spoken. "Frances, I didn’t mean that.”

“No, you know what, it’s cool. Have the time of your life at Stanford, Theo. Excuse me, I guess  _I’m not good enough to for the bourgeoisie_.”

—

Frances can hear her parents fighting from downstairs. Now, it isn’t the first time she’s overheard them arguing, but it just sucks because this drawing had been going really well but she can’t concentrate with her parents yelling and Dad must be pissed because he just used the b-word and she can’t take it anymore.

She covers her ears and begins to hum.

—

Frances gets sad the year Theodosia heads off to Stanford. Really sad. Refuses-to-get-out-of-bed sad. Hasn’t-showered-in-a-week sad.

It’s not  _because_  of Theo. Theo may be her best friend, but she’s still just one person. But it’s because Theodosia is at Stanford and Philip is at Columbia and Georges is at Brown, and she’s… stuck. Stuck living with her mom, working for the cab company, doodling in a sketchbook, living in the barrio.

It’s the kind of sad that Theo would probably call “depression” and what Frances would call "fucking ridiculous" because she can’t have depression. Depression means crying at odd times of day and yelling and addiction and shame and trying to….

Depression would mean that she’s like her parents. That she’s like her father. And Frances Laurens is nothing like her father.

Yeah. She’s not depressed. She’s stuck.

—

_"Everyone tells you that the minute you get married every other woman in the world suddenly finds you attractive. Well, that's not true. It only affects the kind of women you always wanted to sleep with, but they wouldn't give you the time of day before, and now they're banging down your door and falling to their knees. At least that's what it feels like because you Can Not Touch Them. In fact, you can't even look at them!_

_Close your eyes, close your eyes, close your eyes—Except you're sitting there eating your corned beef sandwich, and all of a sudden, this pair of breasts walks by and smiles at you, and you're like "That's not fair!"_

_And in a perfect world a miracle would happen, and every other girl would fly away. And it'd be me and Eliza, and nothing else would matter. But it's fine, it's fine, it's fine. I mean, I'm happy! And I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine. It’s not a problem—It’s just a challenge! It's a challenge to resist temptation…"_

— 

There’s this weird phenomena that Philip is discovering that everyone seems much more attractive when you’re on break with your long-term boyfriend. Honestly, it should be exciting but it’s not. Well, maybe a little but it mostly just feels annoying because “on a break” is not the same as “broken up”, and Philip knows this because he’s watched all ten seasons of _Friends_ which Georges chastises him about because he’s a like an old person telling you to step outside and smell the roses but trapped inside a teenager’s body which is a weird descriptor but kind of fitting since Georges is so technologically inept it’s honestly kind of sad and why can’t I stop thinking about him when this woman keeps staring at me and maybe I should talk to her because who needs Georges anyway oh gosh we’ve made eye contact don’t pull out your phone don’t pull out your phone don’t pull out your phone that’s the ultimate surrender then she’ll know for sure you’re avoiding her not that it matters because I _can’t touch her anyways_ and whoops my phone’s out shit Mom called I should answer that no I’m trying to have a good time right now and _not think about Georges_  but she’s gonna wanna know whose place I’m staying at for Thanksgiving and if I don’t answer right away she’ll flip so if I stay with Dad for Thanksgiving and her for Christmas oh but then she’ll ask me to go shopping with her is it completely selfish that I’m skipping Christmas just because I don’t want to go shopping oh but after that is New Years and New Years with Mom is the worst at least Dad and his friends say funny things when they’re smashed ugh I’m making a pros and cons list for my parents I’m the absolute worst _I suck I suck I suck_ maybe I should just spend the holidays at Columbia or at Brown with Georges since we’re trying to be friends and it’s going ok so far but that’s definitely _not going to happen_ if I sleep with this woman making bedroom eyes at me which is fine because I am a mature adult who is still financially dependent on his parents and hasn’t shaved and really needs a haircut and I’m pretty sure she’s not making bedroom eyes anyways she’s just staring at my black eye honestly I shouldn’t even be here I have so much work to do I have two ten page papers due on Tuesday and a final I should have started yesterday well maybe if I book it right now I’ll still have time oh my god am I turning into—

No. He’s got everything under control. 

—

“Honestly, life is like a play or some shit.”

“Yeah? You think so?”

“Of course.”

“That’s real insightful, Frances.”

Frances nods, noting the amused smirk on Theodosia’s face. “You’re welcome. And how do I know this? _I’ve been upstaged, demoted from protagonist in my own drama to comic relief in my parent’s tragedy._ ”

She frowns. “I’m sorry.”

“Why’re you apologizing? ’S not your fault.”

Theodosia considers for a moment. “Hm. I dunno, really. Secondhand guilt, I guess? Is that a thing? Do you think that’s a thing?”

“Sure, whatever. I just don’t want you to fuckin’ feel bad for me and all my telenovela bullshit.”

“I don’t—“

In an attempt to brush her grumblings aside, Frances tries again, this time more lighthearted. “But yeah, congratulations on Stanford. That’s so exciting. I always knew you were a champ.”

Theo chuckles quietly. “Thanks.” She seems to muse to herself. “I don’t really know if I’m gonna end up going."

“What, why?”

Theo shrugs.

“Well, I’m sure there are other schools, but I mean you always talk about wanting to get out of here, so I don’t know—"

Theodosia leans in, and Frances realizes what’s happening just in time to close her eyes. Their lips meet.

Frances pulls away after a moment. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. What just happened?”

Theodosia furrows her brow, perplexed. “I kissed you."

“Why?” Her head is swimming. “I mean, we were just chilling.”

Theo shrugs. “I know. I just wanted to.”

“Oh.” Frances pauses for a moment, but she doesn’t dwell too long before she surrenders. “That’s what’s up."

They kiss again, and her heart swells.

—

“What the fuck, Frances?”

Frances is down for a fight anytime anywhere, but if there’s one thing she hates it's arguing with her cousin. But after breaking the news to him, he’s staring down at her with an expression of utmost betrayal, and she has to say something.

“Phil, I’m really sorry, but—"

“I don’t want to hear it, I thought we had a plan.”

“I said I’m sorry, but plans change—“

“You’re supposed to have my back.”

Frances hates fighting with her cousin.

“You and your beau are still going strong,” she suggests. "I don’t understand why you want to stay with me anyway.”

He pauses. “Georges and I are taking a break.”

“Oh.” There’s that twinge of guilt. "I’m sorry,” is all she says. It’s all she can think to say. She avoids looking at him.

Philip avoids looking at her as well, examining a dirt spot on his shoe. “It’s chill.” Frances suspects it’s a lot less chill than he’s letting on, but she doesn’t press him. “He’s like… trying to find himself or something. It’s all really existential and French of him."

Under different circumstances, she probably would have laughed. “Sorry dude, but I don’t have anything else I can really do. West coast with Theo just seemed like the best possible option for me.”

“Yeah, things seems really dreary and hopeless for you.” His voice is dripping with sarcasm, and her mood shifts from sympathy to irritation in an instant.

“Fuck off, dude,” she says, lashing out, "you don’t know me.”

“Funny, I thought I would since I’m your cousin and all, but I guess I was wrong.”

She finally snaps, going practically hysterical as she yells, “I’m a fucking joke! My only skills are getting into fights and drawing dumb cartoons. If I could go to school, I would, but my focus is so shot that a goldfish would have a longer attention span. So enough with the fucking guilt trips Mr. Columbia Magna Cume Laude.”

Philip stands in silence for a moment. His voice is much softer this time when he replies. More earnest. “Can’t I come with you guys?”

“What?” asks Frances, totally taken aback.

“I don’t want to go home."

_ (Don't you come back here.) _

“Philip—"

“I  _can’t_  go home.”

_(She said, "Don’t you come back here.")_

Frances hates this.

“Look. I’m sorry you’re parents are splitting up, but—“

“I don’t know what to do with myself. I’ve done everything they want me to do. I’m wearing myself thin going back and forth between them. I remember everyone’s parents splitting up in school, but I didn’t think that was a problem I’d ever have to deal with. I didn’t want to end up like one of those kids with broken homes."

Her jaw is set. “Gee, thanks.”

“Frances, I didn’t mean you.”

“No, I got it. My life’s a fucking wreck. I guess we’re all family until it really matters."

—

“If I’m coming to the west coast, we’re gonna have to establish some ground rules first,” says Frances.

Theodosia nods, sitting cross-legged on the couch next to her. “Sure, ground rules. Sounds perfect. Hit me.” She seems amused.

“Why are you laughing, I’m being real,” says Frances, aiming to be cross but failing to muster up any true irritation.

“I’m not! Go head, shoot, I’m listening.” Theodosia waits attentively.

“Ok first,” says Frances with a pointed finger, "I wouldn’t be coming _with_ you to California.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“And we’ll have our own separate places—“

“Naturally.”

“And no flirting.”

“What?” says Theodosia in a mock-scandalized tone, hand to her chest clutching her imaginary pearls. "That is disgusting and wrong. I don’t even get—why would—you have—the _nerve_ , the audacity—"

“Yes, Ben is your boss technically, and he’s terrible face-wise. Are you done reciting the whole of Parks and Recreation?”

“ _Literally_ , the most finished I could possibly be.” She grins.

Frances rolls her eyes. She doesn’t miss their close proximity, how Theodosia is leaning in—but she ignores it. They’re friends.

— 

Finally letting out of school Philip finally has time to stop by his dad’s firm. The last thing he expects is to run into Georges. He’s equally taken aback by Georges enthusiastic response.

_“… Hold up a minute."_

_“Georges, hey—”_

_“Philip, you’re home today!”_

_“Any sign—“_

_“Of your folks? They’re on their way—“_

_“Anyway—“_

_“It’s good to see your face—“_

_“Anytime—“_

_“Hold up a minute, wait."_

They spend time catching up. Talking about university, Philip’s first year at Columbia, Georges internship, life, their parents, anything and everything. Philip loses track of time.

_“I’d better find my folks. Thanks for the welcome wagon.”_

_“Anytime, anytime, Philip.”_

He turns to leave, but Georges stops him.

_“Wait here with me. It’s getting hot outside. Turn up the A.C.  Stay here with me."_

Philip smiles and sits with Georges.

_How the hell am I gonna tell everyone I dropped out?_

* * *

 

 **A/N:** Small, not-so-small thing: the tone of this fic seems to give off the impression that LGBT people are responsible for our own oppression, which is so removed from reality (at least, besides intersectional issues such as racism/sexism and it's relationship to LGBT oppression).

While that has never been my intent, I've come to the conclusion that the cause is that it's the result of me wanting to tell stories that intersect LGBT identity with harmful parenting. Primarily, how the homophobia and transphobia faced by the parents has been internalized and how that can be harmful to their children. (cont. 1/2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N starts and the end of the fic since it got kinda long ^^^
> 
> (cont. 2/2) That plus the most of the parents in the fic are already not exactly the best of people, even though some of them try. So beyond ingraining their kids with harmful messages about LGBT folks, they're also not the best parents in ways completely unrelated to that.
> 
> I cannot stress enough that my main theme of the fic is I want to show the kids OVERCOMING similar obstacles their parents face. While I cover some dark material, in the end it's supposed to be hopeful for the kids (I call them kids even though in certain parts they are also young adults), aka the future generation. They're a close-knit group meant to represent optimism or hope or something corny like that.
> 
> I've repeated the phrase "growing up into the legacy of your parents" a lot, and it's pretty apt, because each of the Next Gen on some level has grown up in the shadow of their parents, whether they fear turning into their parents when they grow up, or the exact opposite--never living up to their legacy. Not to spoil anything in the future, but the next gen all will manage to overcome the failures of their parents.
> 
> For example: Philip is a flirt who fears commitment and fears becoming a cheater like his father, especially since they're both bisexual and he's very aware of bisexual stereotypes. However, he has a lot of pressure put onto him to *be* just like his father in other aspects of his life. Meanwhile, you probably picked up that Frances eventually develops depression and this makes her even more fearful of turning into her parents who I don't know If i've established very well yet, both have depression and dispositions toward self-destruction (and addiction).
> 
> I know a lot of it has been very love-triangle-centric and different from the first chapter in which i focus on the characters relationships with each other as opposed to their identities in singular. And that was me getting carried away with the shipping aspect & getting enjoyment and drama out of portraying multi-faceted LGBT relationships.
> 
> I've done a certain amount of revising such as Eliza's character growth to show that not all the first generation of characters end up entirely fucked up. Plus there was no way I'd write it so that the next gen would end up still connected to their parents and framed in a positive light if they were shown to be continually abusive. I mean, I've maintained their parenting isn't the best, but it's moreso done by the impressions they leave on their children rather than outright and continual abuse. Burr is a bit stoic and overprotective, but he's more so cold to people outside his family, not Theodosia. Alexander just puts a lot of pressure on Phillip. Laf can be inattentive. A lot of the pressure the kids feel is partially self-imposed. I've written points where they fuck up, but the point is their mistreatment isn't *continual*.
> 
> K i wanna talk abt a brief point tho on how the parents views on being LGBT has fucked up the kids. Actually, going over all the parents in this fic, Burr is accepting, Laf, Adri, and Herc are queer af, the two examples that are Fucked up are Philips parents and Frances parents. In reality, there are parents who end up changing their ways, so parents who originally might have been angry with their child end up accepting of their child in the end. Which is why i made the decision for Eliza's character growth, she eventually becomes accepting & it's actually a good moment for her b/c she's able to accept herself as well. Alex will be ok offscreen somewhere. I may write that in. & that leads me to Martha and John.
> 
> The exception I would say to the parents overall kind of sucking in that resigned way but not being outright toxic is Frances and her family, while her parents' harmful behavior is not intentional, she ends up in a pretty toxic environment. I'm not saying whether John or Martha get happy endings (they might.........), but since I already established she's going to the west coast, she's not gonna be around them for a while.
> 
> Plus there are arcs that are relatively harmless to the next gen: Angelica and her little love-triangle cul-de-sac, plus James and Thomas and somehow I've managed to write an arc for them that has little to no conflict (weird because they were despicable irl and yet its pretty ironic bc ppl often agree they have the healthiest relationship in the show. & also in my fic). 
> 
> Anyways, that's done.
> 
> Please make sure to comment! It's how I thrive.
> 
> References are italicized since I couldn't bring myself to cut them. Consider it homage. See if you can pick up all of them I guess? It'll be like a game.


	7. Chapter 6: I See Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frances projects her need for parental figures onto every adult in her life despite the fact that the adults repeatedly prove their incompetence. Also, Eliza deals with Alexander and Dolley, John is a mess, and Philip and Georges try their best to be "friends".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey... Sorry, it's been like 500 months. I'll reference just about everything but hamilton in this fic for some reason... ALso i keep saying this will be the last chapter & im wrong like every single time so like... there's more coming. This chapter is short sorry

Frances and her father are out on a drive when she finally tells him.

It’s painful. It’s hard and painful which it shouldn’t be, it should be freeing but it isn’t. They should be connecting, but they aren’t. She wants comfort. She wants reassurance. Instead, they spend a long time in silence.

“Dad?”

He doesn’t answer, eyes already lost in the distance.

She tries one more time. More earnest, more firm. “ _Dad_.”

He's already gone.

—

Frances is sitting on Burr’s couch because of course she is. Come to think of it, Burr can’t think of a time she’s not around.

She doesn’t look over as they walk into the room, a little too comfortable for their liking, but feeling obligated to say something, anything, they ask her, “So Frances, how are you?”

“Huh?” She glances up for a sec, before folding her arms and shrugging. “Ok, I guess.”

Awkward silence permeates the room.

“How’s your dad?”

She shrugs again. “He’s fine.” She raises a quizzical brow, as if she couldn’t possibly understand what was so interesting about her dad.

Something about her scowl and her furrowed brow indicate she’s not as fine as she’s letting on. Burr considers pressing her on it, but decides against it.

They make an ill-kept promise to themself not to ask Frances any more personal questions.

—

_“Was Daedalus really stricken with grief when Icarus fell into the sea? Or just disappointed by the design failure?”_

—

“Can you believe Philip is dropping out of Columbia?” asks Alexander as he paces back and forth in irritation.

John watches him from where he sits, slumped in his chair, thoroughly unruffled. “I’m shocked.”

“Why would he do something like that? What’s gotten into him! He knows how hard his mother and I have worked to get him where he needs to be, and he just—ugh! I can’t even finish my sentences!”

“That’s a first,” snarks John. Alexander glares at him.

Lafayette tries to reassure him. “He just needs some time. He’ll figure out what he wants.”

“I thought that this was what he wanted! I don’t want him throwing away his future on a whim. He’s too young—he’ll just end up doing something stupid. I’m—I’m gonna tell him that he’s going right back to school in the fall whether he likes it or not.”

John shrugs, staring down at his shoes as he absentmindedly kicks a single leg. Something about him seems distant, defeated.

Alex pauses, finally noticing John’s nonchalance. It seems to irritate him. “You seem awfully chill about this.”

“Hey. ’S not my kid, not my problem.”

“Gee, thanks.”

John ignores this, but Alexander is rolls his eyes.

Unsatisfied with John’s response, Alexander instead turns on Lafayette. “This is your fault,” says Alex, pointing an accusatory finger at Laf.

“Me?” asks Laf, understandably bewildered.

“You… You—your son quit his internship!” says Alexander, puttering around as he grasps as straws. "Clearly his lazy work ethic is rubbing off on Philip.”

“Oh, please,” scoffs John. "Give me a break."

“Stay out of this, John,” snaps Alex.

“Fuck you, you’re the one dragging me into this.”

“Well—"

“My fault?” asks Lafayette, piping up again, standing up and giving Alexander a disgusted look. "You’re going to blame me for your son’s shortcomings?”

“He’s never done anything like this before now—“

“Your son gets into fights every other day! Georges is nothing but well-behaved—“

“Oh, yes, because clearly your children would never do anything wrong—“

“What are you implying—“

“Virginie—“

“What does Virginie have to do with anything?”

“She’s disrespectful, she vandalized my car, and I wouldn’t put it past her to convince Georges to quit!"

“You’re suspecting a teenage kid of conspiring against you! You are the one who wanted to talk about Philip, your son, Alexander! Don’t bring my kids into this.”

Hercules mumbles quietly, "Save it, Laf, it’s not worth the effort.”

“Alexander, I am sorry Georges quit, after all the strings you had to pull to get the internship in the first place. It’s very out of character for him. I assure you, I did not raise a quitter.”

“Hey, why do you gotta look at me when you say that?” asks John.

“I did not.”

“Fuck you! Don’t act like I don’t know what you guys are thinking. What you guys say about me, you bougie stuck up dicks! Fucking judging me for being divorced and for my kid being a dropout, when look at yourselves, you dildos! You,” he points to Alexander, “are a nationwide scandal on the brink of divorce, and you,” he says, pointing to Laf, "you’re so obsessed with external appearances and so out of touch that you don’t even know what’s going on with your own fucking kids! For once in your life will you self-obsessed maniacs stop being so melodramatic—”

“ _Don’t accuse me of being melodramatic_ ,” says Alexander, “ _especially coming from the man who tried to_ —"

“Jesus Fucking Christ, Mary, Joseph, and all things holy, will you all just stop!”

Everyone else goes silent, staring at Hercules.

“Hercules? What’s gotten into you?” asks Lafayette.

“All of you, just shut the fuck up. Stop being so nasty to one another! You’re supposed to be best friends. All this over petty bullshit? Your kids giving up on shit? News flash, people quit sometimes. They lose interest in things, they give up, they find something else, they move the fuck on! It’s what we do. Do I expect Will to want to be a tailor all his life? No! Because I’m a normal fucking human being, and not projecting my own issues onto a goddamn teenager. Can you stop being so self-absorbed for one goddamn minute? You can’t just force people into doing what you think is best for them. Philip is doing just fine! Georges doesn’t need annoying parents pushing him any harder, he’s hard on himself as it is. He was probably one coffee-run away from a mental breakdown! And I get it. You’re scared for them. But if you all would just let them at least try to figure things out for themselves, I assure you, you won’t set yourself up for disappointment when they don’t try to follow exactly in your footsteps.”

Silence, and then John speaks. “Damn. When did you get so insightful, Mulligan?”

“When I had to become the reasonable one. I have a couple years on you guys anyways, but y’all are grown ass adults, I shouldn’t have to be your goddamn dad.”

Despite himself, John snorts. For some reason, this causes the others begin to laugh as well.

“What’s so funny?” asks Hercules.

They just continue to laugh together.

—

“Are you ready to try again?”

“I think I’m ready.”

“Ok. Here we go. _Movida_.”

“Shipping.”

“ _Gallina_.”

“Hen.”

“ _Lápiz_.”

“… something.”

“ _Pluma_.”

“Pen.”

“ _Ventana_.”

“Window.”

“ _Puerta_.”

“Door.”

“ _Maestra_.”

“… something.”

“ _Y_ _piso_.”

“Floor. Three out of four.”

“We did alright.”

“Then, teach me a little more.”

“ _Calor_."

“Heat."

“ _Anoche_."

"Last night."

“ _Dolor_."

“Pain."

"That’s right. _Llámame_ —"

"Call me."

“ _Azul_."

“Blue."

“ _Ámame_."

"Love me."

"Perhaps I do...“

—

“Hey, thanks for doing this for me, man,” says Philip as Georges lets him into his apartment.

Georges nods curtly, raising a quizzical brow at he glances at Philip. “Yeah, are you ok? Because you just called me ‘man’."

"So?"

"So you’ve literally had your tongue in my mouth before.”

“I was trying to be profesh but if you’re gonna be like that I can just go—“

“No!” says Georges, too quick, too earnest. "I mean,” he tries again, gathering his composure.  
"It’s fine.” He shrugs.

Philip scrutinizes him for a moment but doesn’t comment. “If it makes you feel any better, think of this like a sleepover.” He offers his best optimistic smile. Georges doesn’t seem to see it.

“Yes, a never-ending sleepover.” Georges sighs, wringing his hands. “So what’s the deal?”

Philip frowns. “I’d rather not talk about it, I just don’t want to be home right now.”

“Alright, that’s fine. You can take the couch,” says George with a cavalier gesture.

“Thanks.” Philip nods, looking around the room. He sets his stuff down, trying to settle into the couch before speaking again. "Georges, why are you so afraid of everything?” asks Philip, turning to look back at him.

Georges is taken back by the abrupt question. He opens his mouth to protest. “I’m not—I, uh, I…” Upon seeing the look Philip gives him, he relents. "Ok, I’m a little afraid of everything.”

“Is that what I’m going through?”

“What? You? Come on Philip, you can’t be serious.”

Philip sighs, resting his head on his knees as he hugs them close to his chest. “That’s gotta be it. Every time I think about school I’m forced to consider going back home so I can’t stop thinking about my parents which makes me think about their divorce and then it just escalates so that my mind won’t stop running through every single awful scenario that can possibly happen in the history of everything.” He says all this very fast.

“Sounds familiar.”

“And my chest feels tight and my stomach feels like I’m going through the drop of an elevator, but not in a fun way.”

He snaps, pointing a finger. “Bingo, that would be the anxiety.”

“It’s miserable.”

“Yeah, try living with it basically all your life rather than just the last couple months.”

“I’m sorry,” mumbles Philip.

Georges shrugs. “Nah, it’s fine.”

“I’m being awfully self-centered, aren’t I?”

“Not any more than usual. It’s fine, how can you not, after the entire world convinces you that you put the sun in the sky? Besides,” adds Georges, more quietly this time, “I do enjoy seeing you again. It’s comforting. Reminds me of our Skype chats.”

“Thanks. It’s nice seeing you, too. I guess that was the problem. All the pressure has just piled up, and it’s gotten to the point where it's crushing me.”

“I mean, if anyone can handle it, it’s the world’s pride and joy, Philip Schuyler-Hamilton.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I—I don’t know.” He pauses a moment. "Is it weird that I’ve been thinking more and more about my birthparents? I never used to worry about that too much, but I can’t stop thinking about who I would be if I had never seen Manhattan. _I feel like all my life, I've tried to find the answer… So please don’t say you’re proud of me, when I’ve lost my way_.” Philip looks up at Georges, "I dropped out.”

Georges eyes go wide, mouth agape in astonishment. “Well, shit.”

“That’s it?”

“I’m sorry, were you expecting me to be your personal counselor?”

Right. Self-centered. Philip shakes his head. “My bad, my bad. I don’t know what I was expecting. You’re the first person I’ve told. I don’t know how I’m gonna break it to everyone else.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have any more words of wisdom for you. You know me, scared of the world.”

“Not always. Do you remember the first time we kissed?”

He thinks about it for a moment. “Actually, no.”

“I was so surprised. I didn’t know you could be spontaneous.”

“Huh. I guess I have my moments.”

“Yeah,” says Philip dreamily. Georges firmly resists falling head over heels as the corner of Philip’s mouth twitches in a crooked smirk. "I’ve always admired you for that.” He frowns. “You know, Dad told me you quit your internship.”

Georges only nods.

"Knowing you, I’m sure that must’ve been really difficult.”

He sighs, hugging his arms close to his chest. “Yeah, well, I guess Virginie finally knocked some sense into me. I’m not particularly fatalistic, but I suppose she made me realize something.”

“Realize something?"

“Realize that what’s going to happen is going to happen, whether I worry about it or not.”

“Georges?”

“Yes?”

“I ruined us, didn’t I?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I wish you would’ve told me.”

“We were in high school. Everyone is an idiot in high school.”

“Ha. I guess so."

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason. Thanks for helping me Georges, I think I’m turning in for the night."

“Philip, you understand that we’re still on a break, right? We… didn’t get back together or anything.”

“No, yeah, I’m clear on that. I just wanted to say thank you,”

“… For?”

“For helping me out.”

“I—I didn’t—“ he begins, it sounding much more like a question than a statement, but he is cut off when Philip pulls him into a hug.

“Thanks,” whispers Philip.

Georges nods into his shoulder, before clearing his throat and patting him on the back like a friend would. “Of course."

—

Philip and George try to stay on their break. It doesn’t last very long.

“Honestly, what the hell were we doing this whole time?”

“I don’t know, but we were idiots.”

“Morons.”

Philip laughs as they fall back onto the couch, winding his arms around Georges neck and pulling him closer. “Come here, you.”

—

 _“You know what makes me crazy? I'm sorry, can I say this? You know what makes me nuts? The fact that we could be together, here together, sharing our night, spending our time, and you are gonna choose someone else to be with. No, you are. Yes, Alexander, that's exactly what you're doing! You could be here with me, or be there with them. As usual, guess which you pick. And I know in your soul it must drive you crazy_  
_That you won't get to play with your little girlfriends_  
_No, I'm not, no I'm not!_  
_And the point is, Alex,_  
_That you can't spend a single day that's not about_

 _You and you and nothing but you_  
_"Mahvelous" novelist, you!_  
_Isn't he wonderful, just twenty-eight_  
_The savior of writing_  
_You and you and nothing but you_  
_Miles and piles of you_  
_Pushing through windows and bursting through walls_  
_En route to the sky_  
_And I…"_

—

_"Caption—My dad and I were exactly alike."_

_"I see everything!"_

_"Caption—My dad and I were nothing alike."_

_"I’m Superman."_

_"My dad and—My dad and I—"_

_"But, Daddy, come back!"_

—

“My parents are fighting again,” grumbles Frances, shrugging past Burr as they let her in the flat.

For a moment, Burr privately laments the fact that Frances feels comfortable enough to share this with them. Clearly they’ve mistakenly set some sort of precedent. It’s a selfish thought that they quickly banish, but they don’t have the capacity to do more than watch stupefied as Frances slumps back into her usual seat on the couch.

“Oh,” says Burr. It’s all they can think to say.

Frances waits expectantly. “‘Oh’? Is that all you have to say?”

“Sorry,” they mutter. “Um… Theodosia will be back any minute so—“

“I don’t want Theodosia.” She appears to pout like a petulant child. “What the hell is she gonna do about it?"

“What is Theodosia gonna do about it? Why are you coming to me? What am _I_ supposed to do about it?"

Frances shrugs, hands shoved into the sleeves of her jacket. “I don’t know, you’re a grown-up.”

“I’m nobody of concern. No offense kid, I don’t think your dad’ll take kindly to hearing any sort of preaching from his best friend’s number one rival.”

“I-I just thought you of all people would get it. _You could at least try_.”

“Kid, this isn’t my problem. Whatever's going on between you and your dad, or your parents, or whatever, that's for you to sort out. Who is he to me? Hell, who are _you_ to me? I don’t know you.”

“Not know me? Mixter, I come to your house practically every day! I tutor your daughter!”

“Exactly, you’re not my family, you’re just a brat who tries to insert herself into our life. Kids like you have no business with kids like Theodosia. Sorry, but this isn’t my problem.”

She stares at them, eyes wide and shiny as though on the verge of tears.

“What are you still doing here? Don’t you have anywhere else to go?”

She bolts out of the apartment, and they could swear seeing her wipe away tears with her sleeve.

—

[In their 20s]

_It’s late. Eliza and Dolley are walking home._

_“What about this?”_

_Dolley plants her one. They pull away._

_“Huh.”_

_“What?”_

_“You just did that.”_

_“Yes I did.”_

_“Nice.”_

_They come at each other but with their heads angled towards the same side. They bump noses._

_“Whoop—"_

_“Sorry—“_

_They back away. Dolley puts her arms around Eliza's waist and pulls her towards her._

_“Do you think we should—_

_“I don’t want to go anywhere, I don’t want to change anything. Let’s just—“_

_“Ok.”_

_“—Try again.”_

_The get their heads right, connect lips, put their arms around each other. And kiss._

—

_“He cheated.”_

_“He cheated?”_

_“Alex cheated.”_

_“Fuckin’ cheated.”_

After Alexander proposed, Eliza’s conversation with John all seemed like silly paranoia from many years ago. It’s years later, too many to count, and she standing in their room alone surrounded by boxes of Alexander's shit when she remembers the letters hidden away in a compartment of her dresser. For a moment, she’s tempted to throw it all to the ground, toss everything in the fucking garbage, destroy every thing in sight—

But she’s more mature than that. She’s a professional. She’s a real lady.

All the same, that doesn’t stop her from throwing his old letters in the fire.

—

_“You know they’re gonna love me, right?”_

Eliza rolls her eyes. _“I’m sure they will.”_

Alexander continues to joke around with her as they drive to her parent’s place. Eliza smiles fondly at him, affectionally brushing her hand through the back of his hair. He tries to steal a quick kiss from her, but Eliza pushes him back, trying not to freaking out as he takes his eyes off the road. She hides her face in his shoulder. He chuckles affectionately.

It’s a bit of a drive so they have time to themselves to just talk. She even tells him the story about Dolley. She mostly tells him the story about Dolley. She tells him about Dolley without admitting that it’s about Dolley. Or who Dolley is. Or that she’s a woman. She tells him the general story about Dolley without going into depth.

_“—And I guess he was cute, and I guess he was sweet, and I guess he was good in bed. I gave up my life for a better part of a year. And so I'm starting to think that this maybe might work, and the second it entered my head, he needed to take some time off to focus on his “career”. He blew me off with a heartfelt letter. I thought, 'I can do better than that.’"_

They’re talking. Connecting. It’s nice. Eliza is pretty sure she’s finally found someone who understands her. When they reach her parent’s house, she finally asks him the question.

“Say you’ll move in with me?”

She waits for him to answer.

—

Alexander kisses John, and John feels like he’s twenty years old again. When their lips part, he speaks.

“Fuck.” Not exactly the most elegant turn of phrase, but its the only word that comes to mind. Probably the only word that can express how he’s feeling, too.

“John?”

He can’t piece together how Alexander feels from inflection alone. John’s never had much of a filter between his thoughts and his words, so he just comes out and asks. “Are we going down this road again?"

He braces himself for the no. He tries to suppress any possible feelings of expectations.

“This was a mistake.”

Somehow, that’s even worse because it means bracing himself doesn’t work. And, of course, eloquent Alexander chooses the worst possible of all phrases.

John tries to recover. “I—you think so?” He wipes his mouth with his hand, staring at Alex.

“Of course it was. You remember how disastrous it went last time, don’t you? Or did I just hallucinate the last 20 or so years of my life?”

“Whose fault was that?” He’s a lot harsher than he ever expected himself to be, perhaps a little accusatory, but not untrue.

A hesitation. Then a breakdown. “Fuck. John, I’m sorry. I screwed up so badly, I—“

“Stop apologizing damnit. What good does an apology do twenty years down the line.”

“I’m sor—“ He catches himself in time, hastily correcting his words in earnest, “What do you want me to say?”

“You’ve said everything! You always say everything. You can’t stop talking and every time I fall for you and it’s the most ridiculous thing because I can feel myself doing it every time."

“You and I both know we’re getting into something disastrous—“

“Alex, really—“

“We both know—“

“Are we really gonna do this entire bit where you talk down to me?"

“John. We both know how this will end. You’ll get clingy and I’ll flake and it’ll just. What if it falls apart again?”

“At least we would know that we fought to make something of it! We get to make mistakes with each other this time!”

“What is the point of reliving everything we went through in our twenties?

“You and I both know we never really had a fair shot, come on! I know it seems dumb, but—“

“We can’t go back in time.“

“Alex. I’m not asking for that time back. We were dumb and irresponsible and reckless, there is no doubt about that. And there are a lot of times when I can’t help feeling like my life is one giant mistake.”

“Come on, John, your life—“

“I said a lot of times, not all the time, there’s a difference. Don’t tell me you don’t sometimes feel the same way.”

Alex hesitates for a moment, but eventually he nods slowly.

John sighs. “Well, none of that matters anyways because my life is my life. I can’t do anything about it. I mean, I tried, but I won’t anymore.” He smiles wryly, consciously aware of the scars on his arm. He fights the urge not to tug on his sleeves. “And besides. I love my daughter. I love my family. I love your family, too. I’m over trying to rewind time. Turns out being old isn’t the end of the world.”

“We’re not old."

John shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, I’ve always loved beginnings, they’re always my favorite part.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s before all the bad stuff happens, you know? Before you go through hell. Or it’s like… like spring, I guess? Something cliche like that. I don’t know, I’m not good with words. Not like you. But after the beginning there’s so much left that I’ve been ignoring, and I’ve been trying to keep that beginning rush all my life. I think that’s what I felt with you? I don’t know. I’m just trying to enjoy everything that’s left after that.”

“And if we fuck it up?”

He shrugs again. “Then we fuck it up."

Alex waits for more. When he doesn’t get any further explanation, he asks, “So that’s it?”

“Pretty much.”

Alexander nods. “… Okay.”

—

“—And here’s Philip with his boyfriend, Georges.” Eliza scrolls through her phone, showing Dolley a photo Philip has posted to Facebook.

“He’s so grown up,” says Dolley.

“Yeah, he makes things easier. Of course, my other kids do, too. But Philip being the oldest, he’s able to help with the younger ones, and in other ways.”

“Like you need help. You’re great with kids.”

“Well, thank you, but I can’t do it all by myself.” Her smile seems sad.

Dolley, perhaps picking up on this, replies, "I’m sorry about what happened with Alexander.”

“Oh no, we’re okay now. Things kind of sucked there for a while, but we’re good. He actually… might be my best friend? Besides Angelica, anyways.”

“Really?” asks Dolley, intrigued.

“Yeah. Turns out he’s kind of a shitty husband but a pretty ok best friend. Funny really."

“Interesting.”

“You’re staring.”

“Am I?”

Eliza nods. Dolley is still staring.

“You’re amazing. I was stupid, letting you go.” Dolley kisses her on the cheek.

“You missed.”

Dolley blinks, taken aback. “I what?”

She scans Eliza’s eyes for any sign of an explanation but there is none. Just earnest and… was it humor?

“You missed,” Eliza explains again, as though it’s obvious.

When Dolley still doesn’t seem to understand, Eliza pulls her in for a proper kiss.

—

Frances always thought that if Peggy Schuyler was kind of like Frances’ genderqueer surrogate sorta-mom, Burr would be like Frances’ genderqueer sorta-dad. Things didn’t turn out quite so lucky.

She doesn’t know what changes, but Burr cosigns the apartment for her. The apartment where she plans to stay with Theo.

_“I’m touched. You care about me.”_

_“I’m just signing the paper. You’re still paying half the rent.”_

Feeling the tears coming on, she throws her arms around them in elation, hugging them without thinking. “Thank you!”

Burr chuckles weakly, awkwardly patting her on the back. “Don’t mention it. Consider it an apology. I was—I was wrong about you.”

She lets go, looking at him again. “Mixter?"

"I know brats like you only come around other people’s places because they have nowhere else to go. Kids like you that feel lost. That feel like the world is passing you by while you jog in place. That don’t understand why you’re different. Kids like you that act like you’ve got the world figured out because you don’t need help from anyone, but you’re terrified of how alone you are. And we may not have much in common, but I know you better than my own damn kid because she’s a recluse like me who never shows her feelings to her own mapa, but you? I _was_ kids like you.”

Frances smiles a wet smile before pointing a stern finger. “We’ll never tell anyone about this, got it?"

“Of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much making out in this chapter.... so much
> 
> Also, sidenote. Im realizing i started this fic in the middle of mogai hell. The specifics abt identities arent necessarily as important as they used to be in Chapter 1, which i changed to the prologue since its so stylistically different from the rest of the fic.
> 
> Sorry for the lack of TheoFrances content this chapter. I know, i was disappointed too. Its mostly parental angst tbh. Parental angst and lots of kissing, because i'm a sap.
> 
> this fic is 90% reference... im derivative. This chapter is particularly egregious.
> 
> Go in peace my children, in the name of kudos, bookmarks, and comments.  
> (pls comment im a dirt gremlin and it feeds my ego)

**Author's Note:**

> Like my writing? Leave me a comment here or on my tumblr at aceluz.tumblr.com!


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